Just A Few Reminders
by The Tiramisu Of Impending Doom
Summary: Followup to At Least and Perhaps storyline. VT
1. Chapter 1

Just a Few Reminders – 1

_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, events, places, etc; belong to Square-enix. All other characters and the story belong to me. Don't sue because I'm just writing this for fun, and if you suggest otherwise that just… Well, that sucks._

_A/N: This follow-up seemed to go better on its own as a multi-chaptered story instead of adding to "Perhaps for One Day More" since the tone seemed a little different, but if you haven't read that Vincent x Tifa thread yet, you better do it before you read this… It has been glorious hell to write, so retrieve Vincent's gun (good luck) and shoot me, right after you read and review, that is. What else…? Ah, and it will be Cid x Shera as well, based on a previously established relationship in my other fics. _

Cory Highwind did not enjoy taking baths, which was extraordinary for a child who enjoyed hiding in closets and painting himself with his food, making it difficult for her to eat without getting distracted by his flailing limbs waxing artistic.

Even though she thought that bathing the kid in the sink would be easier, the child, to put it simply, acted just as irritable as the man who helped create him, and the mother was now suffering the consequences.

At the very least, Cid Highwind quit smoking when she had her baby, and it was nice to kiss him without tasting the nasty tar that used to distract her—only some of the time—from the meaningful display of affection.

The boy flapped his arms and water flew out of the makeshift tub of the sink to splash her in the face, spraying over her glasses. Shera calmly tried to remove the moisture from them.

"Holy shit," Cid muttered, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen.

He hadn't quit gushing expletives yet, but Shera could forgive that. When Cory started swearing maybe she'd start worrying. Or not. Her standards were lowered once she married Cid and plummeted even further when she had her baby.

"What are you doing to my son?" Cid demanded, and when Shera glanced over her shoulder to glare at him she saw him smiling broadly at her.

She gave him a feeble smile, relieved that he was only joking and not truly scolding her. She dealt with that enough, after all. "I'm attempting to give him a bath… but he's not cooperating…" She thought she'd add something else too, to blame Cid, but she decided against it. She didn't need two boys yelling at her at the same time. "I thought giving him one in the sink would be easier on my back… and his screams resonate in the bathroom walls."

"No shit… but… well… where the hell are his toys? The rubber ducky… the… talking trucks… and… and stuff?" The man scratched his head in thought. At least he was trying.

"We don't have a rubber ducky," she patiently informed him. "And we'll break the noisy toys if we put them in the water, Mr. Highwind."

Cid shrugged and leaned against the doorframe, but winced when the child's high-pitched wail resonated around the walls and made his ears throb relentlessly. "Well, you can always try knocking him unconscious…"

She looked over at him again in shock. "Cid! I would never do such a thing."

He threw up his hands in despair. "Shit, then I'm out of ideas! I'll leave you to it, Sher', 'cause I gotta go."

"Alright, alright… Just don't be late for dinner this time." Nagging him for all those times he yelled at her. "Oh, and your new client called. He said that the shipments will be in next week."

He put his hands on his hips. "About fuckin' time… Anyway, I'm just getting my tools. I'll be back shortly. You have the Captain's word on that."

He gave her a lop-sided grin and then headed out the door.

She let out a heavy sigh at his excessive usage of bad language and turned her attention completely to her son, who was now too tired to cry out and decided to whimper helplessly and furrow his brow in frustration instead.

Questioningly, she frowned at him and let the water go down the old drain, and then wrapped her child in a towel before holding him against her.

"Hey there, Little Captain," she said soothingly, wiping the tears from his face and looking into his distressed blue eyes. Those were Cid's eyes, and when the little one grew up, she could picture those eyes flaring in resentment. _Don't think on that yet Shera. Not yet. _"What's the matter?"

"No bath!" he bawled, pronouncing "bath" like "baff." At least the poor guy wouldn't have to take one again until tomorrow, provided that he refrained from drawing on himself or whatever else he did when she was caught off-guard…

She decided he was afraid of water, and after Cid's failed attempt to give the kid a bath the last time, it was no surprise. It was nice of Cid to try and help but children were not like rocket science. She groaned inwardly and brought Cory back to his room to give him a new diaper and some clean clothes.

Just as she finished putting a pair of blue socks on Cory's tiny, restless feet, the doorbell rang. She glanced over her shoulder questioningly as she wondered who it could be. Cid again, maybe? No, Cid would sooner curse and pound on the door than ring the doorbell, if he was locked out, wouldn't he…?

"Da—?" Cory said hesitantly, echoing her thoughts, causing her to return her attention to his face. She offered him the light blue, stuffed bunny that lay beside him on the changing table, and he eagerly accepted it, bringing one of its ears into his mouth.

She scooped her son into her arms and headed down the stairs to see who the visitor was. At least Cory was quiet now. His eyelids were drooping; he was probably going to pass out soon, his chubby fingers loosely grasping the toy.

_Well, that's what happens when you drive your mother crazy after awhile,_ she inwardly pointed out to the fatigued child.

She adjusted the boy in one arm so she could unlatch the door and pull it open, and her eyes widened in surprise at the familiar sight of the tall, dark-haired man standing there, his emotionless blood-red gaze locked on her stunned face.

"Why, Mr. Valentine!" she nearly shouted. "I didn't expect you to visit!"

He bowed his head. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Highwind… I trust that you and the Captain are faring well?"

"Oh, yes, and the Little Captain here is probably about to fall asleep… Come in, come in!" She stepped aside eagerly and let him enter before closing the door.

Cory's head slumped and his cheek rested against her shoulder; the fluffy stuffed bunny slid out of chubby fingers and fell to the floor. Shera lovingly combed a hand through his soft light brown hair and knelt to retrieve the stuffed animal before looking up at Vincent, who was still standing as though he didn't know where to put himself.

"Why don't you sit down?" she warmly suggested, and pulled out a chair for him cautiously enough not to disturb the tired boy in her other arm. "May I get you something to drink?"

"No thank you."

"Er… Would you hang on for one moment? I should put Cory to sleep…"

Vincent nodded silently and didn't consider her offer to sit, but she'd discipline him for that show of defiance as soon as her son was asleep in his room.

The man was still standing there when she returned, and she planted her hands on her hips to glare at him, but a smile threatened to pull her lips back. She debated whether to tease him or to give him absolute hell. But apparently Cid would do that for her.

Just as she contemplated what she might say to make him agree to her invitation, Cid Highwind burst through the front door and froze on sight of Vincent Valentine.

"No fuckin' way!" he exclaimed, and set down his bag of tools to give Vincent a light punch on the shoulder, a gesture that would have knocked anyone else off balance. "Vincent fucking Valentine! How the hell are ya?"

Vincent looked down at Cid and gave the smallest hint of a smile. "It is good to see you too, Captain."

"Well, shit, what the hell are you standin' around for? Sit your phantom ass down and have some tea or somethin'." He glanced over at Shera. "Can you get him some tea, Sher'?"

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me all day," Shera said sardonically, and scurried over to heat the kettle on the stove.

Apparently undisturbed by her comeback, Cid collapsed onto a chair and quirked an eyebrow as Vincent reluctantly pulled the chair out from underneath the table and took a step.

_Squeak._

Furrowing his brow, Vincent froze for a moment and then glanced down to see what caused the noise. He knelt down and when he stood up, Shera giggled at the sight of the toy in his hand, a stuffed cat apparently unharmed by his little misstep. She plucked it from his fingers and set it on the table, her eyes bright with delight at the quiet man's simple actions. "Sorry, Vincent."

For fear that the same incident might occur again Vincent glanced underneath the table briefly before gracefully settling into a chair.

Cid crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, studying Vincent with narrowed eyes. "Shit, Vin… Somethin' is different about you."

Shera had noticed it too. The long-haired man didn't wear that dark red cape anymore. He did, however, still wear black, and so the threatening, impressive appearance stayed with him. Not so much of a surprise, as the man would probably look frightening in a light pink suit, so long as those blood-red eyes could still be seen… even though that was a charming image in her mind.

Vincent steadily looked back at Cid, raising one eyebrow slightly in question.

Then a smile overcame Cid's features and he snapped his fingers in realization, pointing a finger towards the man. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "You've lost your vampire cape and everything! I half-expected you to come in full costu—"

"Captain, would you mind keeping it down?" Shera requested quietly. "Cory's asleep…"

"Shit, sorry honey," he said a little softer, his face taking on an exaggerated mask of regret. Then he winked at Vincent. "So Vince… Have you seen the little guy?"

Vincent nodded in reply, his eyes on the table.

"He's pretty damn cute now, which means he'll be devilishly handsome when he grows up—just like his pop," Cid boasted. "Shera's been feedin' him well and I've been cursin' daily as usual—the typical nurturing process here at the Highwind residence."

Unable to imagine having another child with someone as difficult as Cid Highwind, Shera was laughing to herself and shaking her head, even though she couldn't really disagree with his observations. Devilishly handsome indeed. Maybe a _little_ rugged. As an afterthought, she decided she wouldn't let a teenage Cory leave the house without shaving first…

_Oh, good heavens… A teenager... Blows my mind._

"I believe congratulations are in order, then," Vincent remarked, "though… regrettably… a bit late…"

Shera poured Vincent some green tea and set the cup in front of him, smiling down at his dark head. "That's okay, Mr. Valentine, but that's right, you weren't here almost two years ago when I gave birth to him—"

"But shit, I _was_ here, and that was pretty gross," Cid interjected.

She glared at him. "I wasn't going into details, Mr. Highwind," she reprimanded, and then returned her gaze to Vincent. "Anyway, Vincent, I believe you were at Tifa's party..." She settled down into the chair beside her husband, who couldn't believe his ears.

His eyebrows flew up. "And you went willingly, Vince?"

Vincent nodded. "Tifa was… insistent... and I left early… anyway..."

"Yeah, and you probably were reading the whole time too…" Cid looked over at his wife. "Did I ever tell you, Sher'? Vince wouldn't sleep on the Highwind." She nodded vigorously in reply. "Or anywhere. He would just read, read, read… Oh wait, and glare. Read, glare, read, glare, read—"

"You were never awake long enough to know," Vincent fairly interrupted. "Cloud told me you were always asleep and snoring with a volume surpassed only by Yuffie Kisaragi."

Perhaps the inappropriate "phantom ass" comment ticked off Mr. Valentine somewhat…

"Well shit, that's true. I can sleep anywhere and anytime, but anyway, Tifa saw you up and about a few times… Dunno what the hell she was doing awake. That Strife boy probably plagued her for awhile. He sure was a pain in the ass…"

Vincent fell silent again, and Shera studied him closely, noting something unusual about the expression on his face. She couldn't quite place it...

"We have yet to visit Tifa, to see how she's doing," Shera commented to Cid. "Since our baby, we've been busy… One of these days we'll have to head over to Nibelheim and give her some company."

Vincent bowed his head. "I'm not sure how long Miss Lockheart plans to stay in Nibelheim."

"Oh? Where's she goin'?" Cid wondered aloud.

Vincent shrugged. "I suspect she will be living with Yuffie in Wutai, but I'm not sure."

"Tifa's a saint," Cid mumbled, and stood up to retrieve his bag of tools.

Shera giggled. "As you can see, Vincent, the Captain hasn't changed a bit… except for quitting smoking. He only smells like tea now!" she exclaimed proudly.

"Congratulations, Cid," Vincent uttered calmly.

"Aw, shut the fuck up, Valentine…" Cid snorted and muttered something inaudible as he straightened to his full height. He brought a hand to his back when he realized he made an unwise movement that would probably make him complain all night.

Shera frowned slightly at that probability but returned her gaze to Vincent. "So… tell us how the party went. I bet it was a blast…"

"Yeah. You party animal, you." Cid's blue eyes were aflame with mirth, and Shera sent him a warning glance before studying Vincent's face intently.

His eyelashes fluttered downward as he eyed the cup of tea before him. "It was fine," Vincent answered belatedly.

"Was everyone there?" Cid asked.

"Reeve and Nanaki were not. I don't know why Reeve didn't attend, but Nanaki had business to take care of in Cosmo Canyon. I spoke with him before I came here."

"Shit, the cat's got a huge responsibility anyway… So… What's Cloud been up to? He stopped by awhile ago to introduce us to… Maria, was it?" He glanced at Shera for confirmation and she nodded. "So anyway… What's the deal? I thought he and Tifa were an item."

Shera giggled uncontrollably at this. "Since when are you interested in romantic affairs, Mr. Highwind?"

"When I married you, sweetheart," he said accommodatingly, looking at her with a mask of innocence. Then he returned serious blue eyes back to their silent guest. "Anyway, Vince. Forget Cloud and Tifa… What the hell have you been up to?"

"…Traveling."

"Fuckwowies. Traveling… You don't seem like the traveling type…"

Vincent looked up at him suspiciously. "What do I seem like to you, then, Cid?"

"Like a—One of those… guard types… who just… stands outside of pricey bars and pushes people out of the way if they're not dressed appropriately. That sounds like something you'd do. Or maybe… a ninja assassin—yeah, that's it—with a collection of guns and swords. Er… Shit, ninjas don't really use—"

"Oh, give it a rest, Captain," Shera said, exasperated. She smiled broadly at Vincent. "He's been so happy and even more talkative ever since we brought Cory into our lives. And I know how much of a pain in the butt Cid could be, but I'm so glad you came to visit us."

Vincent nodded in reply. "It isn't a problem…"

"Will you be spending the night?"

"I thought I'd stay at the inn…"

"Ah hell, you can stay here. The inn is pretty nasty anyway," Cid commented. "Ever since they changed hands…" Cid stood up sharply then, as though there would be no disputing with him. "Well, while you're here, I may as well show you all my stuff. I bet that'll make you more talkative. Talking about guy stuff. Machines and tools and shit. You like that sort of thing, right?"

_Oh no, here he goes, _Shera lamented.

"If you want," Vincent replied, shrugging one shoulder indifferently. He was in for a headache…

"Sounds like a great plan! Hop to it, boy! Er… technically, you're a bit older than me, aren't ya…?"

Shera smiled as she watched Vincent slowly rise from his chair and follow Cid out the door. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Highwind."

"Oh, you are always welcome, Vincent. If the Captain begins to bore you, don't hesitate to beat him upside the head…"

"Are you kiddin'?" Cid protested. "This is probably the highlight of Vin's day!"

She noted Vincent's eyes rolling up towards the ceiling just before he closed the door.

Happy to see one of Cid's friends again, she watched them from the window for a few moments and then turned to check on Cory.

At dinnertime, Cid continued to tease Vincent about his anti-social tendencies, since looking at "guy stuff" didn't make him more talkative, while Shera struggled to feed Cory and be an admirable hostess at the same time.

When they finished, Shera demanded that Cid take Cory to get him cleaned up and settled to watch his cartoons before sleeping so she could do the dishes. Besides, she wanted to talk to Vincent about a few things. Those "things" probably weren't any of her business, but she wanted to try nonetheless. She was shy, after all, and Vincent may have been pretty shy too, or at least secretive. Perhaps she could learn more about him. She wanted to know why the quiet Vincent Valentine hung out with her boisterous husband anyway, since the pilot gave him so much hell about his anti-social tendencies…

Silently washing dishes, she contemplated ways to ask Vincent about himself without sounding too nosy, but she simply couldn't help her curiosity. She looked over at the table and was startled to see him standing beside her, drying dishes for her—silently and without any obligation.

Smiling warmly, she thanked him and began, "Vincent… Cid and I have interrupted whenever we asked you… and I was wondering what you have been doing. I know you've been traveling, but… Well, you don't have to answer, but I'm just curious… I guess…" And of course, it came out all wrong. She sincerely hoped that he didn't see her as rude.

He bent his head. Dark hair fell to shield his eyes from her. "Just… trying to find myself…"

"Aren't we all?" she replied mysteriously. She smiled, since that response didn't suit her at all. Perhaps being in Vincent's company had an unusual effect on her.

"No," he denied calmly. "You have already found your place… with Cid… and with your child." When he mentioned Cid's name, she thought there was a hint of surprise there. Of course, no one would have guessed that she would marry such a difficult man, let alone conceive his child.

With a tiny smile, she tilted her head to a side and stopped scrubbing a pan for a moment. "…You will find your place someday, Vincent," Shera said gently. She shook her head and furrowed her brow at the somber thoughts he probably left unsaid. "You don't have to find it _now_… It'll come to you, I think. You'll see…"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter…"

"Of course it matters, Vincent," she argued.

He looked up at her, blood-red eyes gleaming. "Why do you persist, Shera?"

"Because you are a good man, and you deserve happiness."

He shook his head in denial. "You don't know me," he answered coldly.

This was true, and yet she understood self-loathing. "Now wait a minute…" She set down the plate she was working on and glared at him defiantly. His own intense look was enough to make her uncomfortable, and so she hoped to soften him up with a gentle smile. "I was like you once, Vincent… hating myself…"

He opened his mouth to argue with her, but she spoke first. "Let me show you something, Vincent… Come with me."

He eyed her suspiciously, but she began walking and simply expected him to follow. Living with Cid had taught her to be assertive, and she could certainly try with Vincent Valentine, of all people. She only knew one other person just as stubborn as Vincent or Cid…

She tugged on the tall man's sleeve and when he flinched slightly at her touch, she gave him an encouraging smile and continued to lead him towards Cory's room. Cid had put the child to sleep and then went to go pass out on the couch in the living room, no doubt. The man didn't even say goodnight to Vincent. Who knew how long he'd be staying?

Vincent stopped abruptly in the hallway when Shera paused in Cory's doorway, and she looked over her shoulder at him to see his eyes watching her curiously.

She smiled encouragingly and took Vincent by the claw arm—he flinched slightly at her touch, but she kept her grip firm and towed him into the room, stopping in front of Cory's crib.

"Look at him, Vincent," she whispered.

"…It's a child, Mrs. Highwind," he said flatly.

Her smile became bitter. "I know it's a _child_, Vincent," she whispered harshly. "Here…" She leaned over the crib and lifted Cory into her arms. Then she moved close to Vincent and murmured, "Take him."

"Shera, I don't see the—"

"Take him."

Uncomprehending her intentions, he cautiously took the slumbering child into his arms, a worried expression on his face as he settled the boy against his chest and held his claw out awkwardly so as not to touch the baby-soft skin with the sharp metal fingers. Cory settled his head against Vincent's shoulder while the man stood woodenly, afraid of waking him. The boy shifted in his sleep, turning his head slightly, but did not awaken.

Then blood-red eyes lifted to her light brown ones, sparkling with amusement in the half-dark.

"You see, Vincent?" she breathed. "He's not disturbed by your presence… so you can't be as bad as you think you are…"

He shook his head, his expression incredulous, and whispered back, "Just because he didn't wake up doesn't mean—"

She put her hands on her hips. "My mother always told me that any decent human being can hold a child without waking him, Mr. Valentine. Now… What do you say to that?"

Vincent stared at her blankly for a moment; she could see in his eyes that he didn't see her point and wouldn't listen to her, no matter what she threw at him. Maybe it was a feeble attempt anyway… _Well, I tried._

After a second, he tentatively stepped towards Shera and returned the child to her arms. She noticed with some dismay that his hands were trembling during the transfer. How long had it been since he touched anyone?

She kept that thought tucked in the back of her mind as she gently returned her little boy to his crib. Remarkably, he remained asleep. She was glad that he finally rested, since he was keeping her on her toes all day. Hopefully, he'd be less hyper tomorrow, and be more cooperative with his bath. But she wouldn't count on it.

She pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, leaving his face uncovered, and then straightened to her full height only to find that Vincent was gone, and after a few moments of surprised silence, she heard the quiet hush of the front door closing.

If he ever came back, she would be immensely surprised.

_It was nice talking to you anyway, Vincent,_ she thought, and left Cory's room.

At some unknown hour early in the morning, Cid Highwind awoke in his bedroom as he turned on his side and felt a twinge in his back, no doubt the residing pain from his dumb-ass maneuver in bending over to get his stupid tools. Biting back a curse and settling for biting his tongue furiously so he tasted blood in his mouth instead, he slowly sat up and took a deep breath.

He scratched his chin and idly noted that he needed to shave again as he glanced over at Shera, who lay sprawled on the bed with her brown hair splayed across the pillow. He should just wake her up and start bitching about his agony. He was such a pain in the ass and yet she found it necessary to bring in another boy into the family. She had been good to him, she was brave to take him on, and she probably wasn't going to get much sleep because Cory would wake up and start complaining soon. But Cid was pissed that she coaxed him to quit smoking—to stop, cold turkey. Though… he could get back at her for taking him away from the nasty habit by spending the extra time he had to live tormenting her in his every waking moment.

Except in moments like these when she looked damn pretty by just simply laying there. Plus, his back hurt and she could probably take him without trying. He never saw her punch anyone but he didn't doubt that she could do that, and much worse. Many women were like that, actually…

_Yeah… Fuck it. I'll get back at her later…_

He'd removed himself from the couch in the middle of the night and stumbled into bed, simply so he could feel her warmth beside him. Not without stumbling over some of Cory's toys as he unthinkingly navigated towards his bedroom.

He lightly touched her arm and then slipped off the bed silently, wincing as his bones protested the movement.

"Fucking middle-age," he whispered harshly as he crossed the doorway, and lazily began his trip down the hallway.

He peeked into Cory's room and murmured towards the crib, "Mornin', little guy…" He was tempted to go pick the child up and hold him, just to remind himself how lucky he was, but the kid would probably wake up and start crying because Cid didn't have that same calming effect as Shera did on the little guy, and then she would wake up and start scolding him in her sweet way, and then _Valentine_ would wake up and politely but effectively tell Cid that he was being a dumb-ass, and…

Valentine. Would the guy be asleep? Maybe Cid missed him while walking with his sleepy, zombie-like grace, and the guy was actually sleeping on the floor or probably under the table, because maybe it reminded him of a coffin or something.

Well, shit, the man couldn't have been asleep, could he? No, Cid would find him sitting quietly in the kitchen, maybe reading the morning paper, or perhaps staring at the toaster in consternation, wondering why it didn't work. Because Cid forgot to try fixing it, that's why. Shera was going to threaten him for that soon, no doubt.

He sauntered into the kitchen, glancing around with every step to see if Vincent was anywhere in sight, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

Once he made it to the center of the room, he crossed his arms and scanned the room more, as though he expected Valentine to materialize out of nowhere and just… glare at him.

Contrary to all of these different scenarios he fabricated, Vincent Valentine was gone. Maybe he _had_ been sleeping, at least for a few hours, and then he woke up in the middle of the night to leave early. That seemed like a Vincent-y thing to do, anyway. Trying not to be imposing but still looking exceedingly scary and mightily bad-ass, all the while keeping a polite demeanor even though sometimes his remarks could frighten the hell out of people… Yeah, and Vincent probably had things to do. People to kill. Maybe suck their blood… or shoot them in the ass. The latter sounded more likely.

Thoughtfully turning his attention to the clock, he rubbed his sore back. 5 AM. A really stupid fucking time to be awake, especially with no Shera awake to torment. And it was a Sunday too. _Shit. _What the hell was the thinking? He obviously hadn't been, and it was probably just his damn back that made him wake up so randomly in the first place. A pretty inconvenient body part, Cid thought.

Dejectedly, he walked back to bed and hoped that he could fall back into sleep just as easily as he was cruelly taken out of it—

—only seconds before Cory Highwind thought it would be a good time to wake up.

_A/N: Notice how I'm creating rooms that don't even exist in the Highwind household. Well, they do now… I'll be making up all sorts of buildings and things in here, so you'll just have to work with me, people. Thanks for being patient._


	2. Chapter 2

Just a Few Reminders – 2

_Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, events, places, etc; all belong to Square-enix. All other characters and the story belong to me. Don't sue because I'm just writing this for fun, and if you suggest otherwise that just… Well, that sucks._

Not surprisingly, he could see the steady fall of snow beyond the tiny window of his apartment—like yesterday, and the day before that, and the one before that. But he was always one for routines. It was unfortunate, then, that he probably would not stay here very long, here in Icicle Village. He'd barely escaped Nibelheim, had no particular hurry to leave Cosmo Canyon, and then he left Rockettown without a whim to flee to the North. Perhaps the snowy terrain and frigid glaciers here suitably accommodated his purpose—to become numb again.

Aside from the cold weather, the very nature of the town's inhabitants gave his mission some segue, as they had a tendency to keep conversations to a minimum, making habitual comments such as, "It's colder than yesterday" or "We might get a blizzard tomorrow." He could handle these comments by replying with a nod or a cryptic "Perhaps…"

He kept himself busy working at the weapon shop. The job interview seemed unusual. Vincent Valentine was an imposing man, for certain, and he found that people typically did not say no to him, even though his intentions were not to manipulate them in any way. Because a high collared cloak was more than a little suspicious, he'd donned a new set of clothing just after his visit to Cosmo Canyon, consisting of a charcoal gray shirt, a long black coat and pants, an unremarkable pair of boots, and his bandanna, which he found no reason to abandon. The claw, of course, could not be removed without difficulty, however, and so the interviewer's eyes lingered on the appendage warily. Moreover, his questions were unclear and he sounded distracted, but apparently Vincent was the man for the job. The other man working at the shop was older, perhaps in his late sixties, and so Vincent did much of the work. By choice, he stayed after hours to make sure the weaponry and display cases were immaculate and well kempt.

There were still threats of monsters nearby, even though their numbers were dwindling, and out of habit Vincent kept his gun nearby at all times should a creature attack the village. Young children were often outside, usually unwatched by parents or other guardians. Vincent watched over them all, and everyone else, even if the people themselves were not aware of it.

At his apartment, he always found one thing or another to organize, often more than once, just for the sake of keeping himself occupied. He also read a lot, especially since he'd heard about the man who lived at the far edge of town who had such a wide selection of books that he made a business out of it. Since Vincent learned of it, the number of books in the man's collection was lessening each week, and would continue to do so.

…To say nothing of the distractions that plagued him when he did not discipline his mind…

He kept her drawing in his bedroom, beside the lamp, so he could glance over at it when he was lost in thought, before he went to bed.

The stuffed dog gave him company; he kept it by the end of the couch and whenever he sat at the table in his kitchen he would glance up and the lifeless animal would be watching him.

Just as Marlene couldn't have known about his story of unrequited love, Tifa had inadvertently given him a novel that gave him reminders of his past. He'd finished the novel long ago, but it remained on his bookshelf.

He admitted that he looked at a few of the photographs she gave him from time to time, but he kept one of the pictures in his pocket, always. The photo was somewhat faded and had creases all over it, and it no longer was as smooth and glossy as it was before. He drew it out from his pocket so many times that it looked more than a few years old. But the image of Tifa herself didn't look dull at all.

He knew why he kept them. He knew why he couldn't give them up. Because he wanted something he couldn't have. He tormented himself this way all the time. Lucrecia, Tifa; it was all the same; it didn't matter. He needed these mementos, and he would often sit and brood about what could have been, and what could possibly be. But he knew the truth: Tifa Lockheart would never love him, and no one else would ever love him, because he could never give her anything in return. He would carry his curses with him and infect her like a contagious sickness, and she did not deserve the pain.

The sharp sting he often felt in the center of his chest told him that he couldn't forget her, however, and so these items, these pictures, were just a few keepsakes of her. And nothing more.

He stood in the middle of the room now, caught between the desire to read and to think, and he knew which activity would inevitably win his favor.

With his gaze absently directed to the frosty window, he drew her photograph out of his pocket again, and flipped it between his fingers. He didn't really need to look down at it anymore. He held every curve and every feature of Tifa Lockheart safe inside his troubled mind and so he could close his eyes and just imagine how she looked…

Dark hair kissed by the sun, the ends lifting on a gentle breeze, floating across her cheek. Her round brown eyes gleaming with happiness. Her inviting, dark pink lips stretched into a genuine smile that was unmistakably hers, as bright as the sun that shined over her…

If she had known that he would memorize her face, to taint her beautiful image by placing her in his twisted mind, would she have given him the pictures? Probably not.

_Just a few reminders of her. Nothing more._

Eyelids slid down over crimson irises as if in a physical attempt to block out her image. He directed his thoughts to his visit to Cosmo Canyon, when he spoke quietly with Nanaki about their companions and life in general. The feline had let him stay for nearly a year. Perhaps Nanaki was just as lonely as he used to be. He was, after all, the last of his kind.

"Are you certain that you are the last?" Vincent had asked at some point, suddenly changing their subject of discussion from the fortification of Cosmo Canyon to something long ignored.

The beast had shaken his head. "I have no idea," he replied. "I have sought answers, but found nothing. Perhaps I must look harder… My friends have given insights, the books I've read have given clues…" He shook his head again. "But still… I feel lost…"

"You will find your path," Vincent informed him then. "It's only a matter of time before you find what you're looking for."

"And what about you, Vincent? What are you looking for?" Nanaki had returned. "Do you think that you have done enough for the sake of those sins you told me about?"

Nanaki would never tell him, _"You haven't yet paid the debts due to find peace within yourself, Vincent"_ or _"I think you have been punished enough for your sins."_ He would never be so obvious, but he would never fail to make Vincent think.

"I don't think I will ever be able to compensate," he'd softly replied.

And he would always search for a way to repair the damage he'd done, but even after Sephiroth's defeat, he hadn't discovered the means yet. He didn't think he ever would.

A question came up, one that he was unable to answer even now. The lion-like creature had put his head to one side, stirring the beads and feathers against his mane, and looked at him with that single intense eye, and then asked, "So, what are you going to do now, Vincent?"

What, indeed? Yes, he had a few jobs here and there, but nothing that would inspire him, and he doubted he'd ever find such a satisfying career. Because only one job suited him; he could only truly be a Turk, but he would never return to that life, no matter how fitting the occupation seemed to be…

No, he never responded to Nanaki's inquiry. Instead, he'd thanked the beast for his hospitality and left for Rockettown. What had he expected to find at Cosmo Canyon? The answer to how he should live his life or motivation to live? The reason why he could not erase a few tragic memories from his mind? Advice about how a man could stop thinking about a woman who was beautiful inside and out? Countless mystifying issues he had not yet figured out. He was sure of what he did find; however, he received stimulating conversation, as he always had, from his friend.

And then what did he expect to find in Rockettown? The Highwinds' hospitality? A given, as Shera was not one to turn down visitors. But her haunting words or the unexpected gesture with her child…? He was not sure…

"…_You will find your place someday." _

He scoffed.

How could he have known that Shera would have used almost the same words as he did with Nanaki? Her encouraging words had knocked him off-guard. Encouraging, even if a truism.

So then… just what did he want? What did he expect to find here in Icicle Village? Surely, he would find no peace of mind. He glanced up at the stuffed dog across the room, and then helplessly down to the photo in his hand, but neither gave him any answers.

The doorbell suddenly rang, removing him from his memories to bring him back into the present, and he forced himself to move towards the door. Little did he know that his thoughts would soon be directed to the past once more…

With his claw instinctively clasped behind his back, he smartly undid the latch and turned the doorknob, pulling open the door to see none other than Mrs. Thompson. Of course, she could not see him. Once more, he let the prosthesis rest against his side.

She was another reason why he could not isolate himself completely. A pity, as she probably deserved better company.

The blind woman crinkled her forehead in thought and her fingers mindlessly wrapped themselves tighter around her cane.

"Good evening, Mrs. Thompson," he greeted smoothly. "Do you need something?" The old woman probably forgot where she lived again…

"Mr. Valentine… that's you, isn't it?"

"Yes…" He fiddled with the photo still in his hand.

"Oh… I… I seemed to have forgotten where my room was. Do you think you can point me in the right direction?"

Ah, so he was right. He nodded impulsively, even though she could not see, and replied, "Hugging this wall, it is the second door to your right…"

A sigh of relief went through her and she smiled broadly at him. "Oh, Mr. Valentine… Have you memorized the blueprints of the place?"

His eyes softened. "Why no, Mrs. Thompson…" _It was only the third time this month you asked me…_

"Anyway, thank you… You're a dear…"

In most instances, when she came to his apartment, it was usually because she forgot where she was going.

He and the woman had shared a few hours together here and there—usually sitting in her apartment after her persistence, to drink tea and eat whatever she had cooking. She didn't try to pry too hard into his social life. Asked him four or five times if he had a girlfriend—because she forgot—and a little bit about his friends, but his succinct answers gave little room for conversation, and she didn't press him. He appreciated that. He would just listen to her talk about her grandchildren, and her late husband. He could deal with this, giving simple companionship to a lonely old woman. It was like shrugging or nodding to people who commented on the weather—little social effort on his part.

As always when she left, he didn't shut his door until he could see that she reached her room safely, even though he knew she could handle herself well. He remembered the day he met her, almost two years ago.

_He saw a young man giving an old woman trouble, attempting to snatch her purse. Vincent nearly drew his gun to help the woman, but she whacked the offender with her walking stick and then kicked him with surprising accuracy between the legs, and then he toppled over into the snow. Then, she simply felt around with her walking stick and stepped over him calmly, continuing on her way. _

_She stopped once she sensed Vincent, and he returned the gun to his shoulder holster, only to freeze when she suddenly addressed him in a scratchy voice, "Who's there? If you want trouble, I'll kill you!"_

"_I do not wish to give you trouble, nor do I want to take it," he answered calmly. The woman either had poor sight or she was completely blind._

"_Oh…" Was that disappointment in her tone, as though she was more than ready to show her fighting skills? He'd already seen her display and didn't need a personal lesson. "Well… What the hell do you want?"_

_At least she got straight to the point of things…_

"_I was merely observing how you handled yourself, and now that I see you are unharmed," he explained, "I will leave you." However, he would watch her from the corner of his eye to make sure she didn't slip and fall in the snow first._

"_Wait a second… I know that voice. Are you the guy who works at the weapon shop? Just this morning I heard you frightened some younger customers a few days ago…"_

"_I have done so unintentionally," he assured her, but a smile lifted the corners of his lips at the memory._

"_Heh… Sure, boy. Whatever you say. I suppose the world needs more tough cookies like you and me…" She smiled and turned to face him, but her unseeing eyes couldn't quite reach him. "…What's your name again?"_

_He never mentioned it to her. There was no harm in telling her, was there? "Vincent Valentine." _

"_Sounds pretty fake to me, but it'll do. Nice to meet you, Mr. Valentine." She stuck out her gloved left hand in the air in front of her. "The name's Mara. Mara Thompson." _

_He lifted his claw, hesitated, and then gave her his right hand for an awkward handshake. "Honored, Mrs. Thompson."_

"_Goodness, your hand is as cold as death. You should wear gloves!" she admonished._

_Receiving no response from him, she turned and began to shuffle away, only to hesitate. "Well, I'd better be going, but… I wonder… Where the hell was I going anyway…? Home, I think…"_

_He crossed his arms patiently and slowly turned in place, as though he could suddenly help this woman in finding her way without having known her before, but he rarely knew where _he was_ going most of the time… How much help would he be?_

"_Perhaps we should ask one of the locals," he coolly suggested. She certainly didn't seem like a shy woman. Someone may have known where she lived, perhaps a neighbor._

"_Well… I suppose… My grandson would know," she offered._

_He turned slightly towards her again and lifted an eyebrow at the somber expression on her face. "Do you remember where he lives?" he asked skeptically._

"_Er…" She crinkled her head in thought, and Vincent thought he'd lose all hope. "…I… Yes!" Her face brightened again. "He lives in Mideel…"_

"_That's… quite a trek from here to there, wouldn't you say?" he commented. He could imagine that grandparents could be cumbersome to some families, but Mara Thompson didn't look like she cared if she had company or not anyway…_

"_Yeah, you said it," she agreed. "And… what were we talking about again?"_

_Why did he even bother?_

"_Where you live," he patiently replied, shifting his weight to one leg. _

"_Oh… Where I…" She put her hands on her hips. "Why, I live in the new apartment complex on the top floor." _

_Words spoken as though she never forgot the information in the first place…_

_He was surprised that she lived in the same building as he did, but he only lived here for a few months and he never really went out of his way to meet new people anyway. But he had found a little job at the weapon shop for awhile. Who knew how long that would last?_

"_It was nice talking to you," she commented with a devilish smile. "I'll be purchasin' a sharp walking stick soon, if you sell 'em…!"_

"_We have a few lances in the store, if that's what you're referring to, but if you wish for a better selection, I recommend waiting for the new stock to arrive next week," he offered. "I'm not sure if we have any walking sticks, however. You may want to check an apparel shop."_

_She laughed heartily. "You sure are a fount of info, Mr…?"_

"_Valentine—"_

"_Yes, Valentine… Mr. Valentine… I hope we meet again so you can help me next time I forget where I'm going…"_

"_Of course, Mrs. Thompson."_

"_And such good manners! You have a nice day, my boy. I will see you soon."_

_Manners? He never heard anyone compliment those before. If she only knew what he had done as a Turk, then she might not be so quick to praise him. Wordlessly, he observed the woman going about her way towards the apartment complex, her walking stick guiding her across the snow-covered streets. How ever did she get around so—?_

_He heard a moan behind him and turned around to see the man on the ground, curled up into a ball and holding himself in pain._

_Vincent uncrossed his arms and approached the man slowly, his dark brown boots crunching in the snow and stopping inches away from the man's head._

_The man rolled over onto his back and let his hands flop to his sides, his tear-filled eyes suddenly going wide when he found Vincent towering above him._

_He regarded the man with a cool nod, wondering if he should bring out his gun to make this man even more fretful or humiliated than he already was, but he didn't want to make a scene and so he thought a simple threat would do nicely. After a proper salutation of course. "Greetings…"_

"_Who… Who are you?"_

_Ignoring the man's inquiry, he instead icily suggested, "Don't bother the old woman anymore." Then he dropped some gil next to him. "Use that to make a phone call to get yourself a job."_

"_I… I've got a job here," the man defended in a strained voice, even though he gathered the money into his trembling hand._

_Vincent narrowed his eyes to slits. He couldn't recall seeing this man much before, but then he hadn't recognized Mara Thompson either. "Hmm… Perhaps you should consider that she might need that money more than you do," he coolly recommended, "and now that I know you live here, I'll make certain that I hunt you down if I discover you're trying to steal from anyone else."_

"_Y-y-y-y-yes sir. __Please don't kill me, mister..." He winced as though preparing himself for the blow._

_Vincent leaned over and offered the man his hand. "I'm not going to kill you. Get up and go home. You are disturbing the residents." _

"_Thanks, man. I owe you one—er—do you want your money back?"_

"_No." _

_He easily lifted the man to his feet and watched with hidden satisfaction as he stumbled back to his home. _

"_Blue shutters," Vincent wryly noted, in case he did have to find the man again to make a beehive out of him. Unfortunately, he knew that to be a improbable event._

_He turned back around to discover the curious old woman dragging herself along towards the apartment building... _

Vincent abruptly brought himself back to the present and turned away from the door to look at his room pensively.

Mara Thompson was a good friend. Like Shera and Cid. Like Nanaki. But were those friendships enough? Or too much?

Didn't he tell himself to cut off ties with everyone after the visit with Tifa? Didn't he scold himself tirelessly over this matter of leaving her and the others for good? He failed by visiting Nanaki, by visiting Cid… by letting in Mara Thompson… He regretted ever bestowing gifts to Tifa and Marlene, but… it could not be undone…

The photo absently fell from loose fingers, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He could tell himself one-thousand times that he didn't need anyone and that those chosen few could surely do without him, but he knew the truth. These little reminders of Tifa and these thoughts in his head were not enough, and they would drive him further into madness because he wanted her more than he did before he left her. But she could never know. No one could ever know…

_They are just a few reminders… and yet…_

He brought his hand away from his face to regard the fallen picture at his feet with despondent red eyes. Her indelible image taunted him, removing any chance of him shaking off her memory…

…_So much more._

* * *

A/N: I didn't think I could do Nanaki too well, so I just left you with a few snippets of the conversation just in case it sucked horribly. By the way… MS Word wants Nanaki to be "Anakin." (NANAKI, YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE!)

This chapter was inspired by two songs: "Damage I've Done" by Johnette Napolitano and The Heads as well as "When I'm Down" by Chris Cornell.

One thousand thanks to you all! I hope you enjoy what's to come… It might take awhile for me to put up chapter three, so I hope this will hold you over for a bit.


	3. Chapter 3

Just a Few Reminders – 3

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, events, places, etc; all belong to Square-enix. All other characters and the story belong to me. Don't sue because I'm just writing this for fun, and if you suggest otherwise that just… Well, that sucks.

* * *

She watched the trio gathered around the piano: A brunette stood tall from the waist up, her delicate fingers positioned over the keys—more ivory than ebony, because this was a happier song. The large man to her left rested his good hand on her shoulder, while his gun arm hung at his side, the gun an unusual companion to live with when one had no more of a reason to fight. Despite the beautiful notes prompted by the slightest touch of the pianist's fingers, his attention lay on the happy girl standing to the right with one knee resting on the bench. She contently turned the pages of sheet music, cued with a nod from the piano player. However, her services were not needed, as Tifa Lockheart had memorized most of the songs in this book, and had even improvised a suspenseful melody in place of the original abrupt ending. She left her audience breathless as she finished the piece.

Barret, Marlene, and the distant observer clapped appreciatively once the last audible sound of the note finished while Tifa bowed her head and smiled sheepishly, a tint of color rising to her cheeks.

"Thank you," she murmured softly.

As the applause came to an end, Tifa reached over and flipped through the pages of the music book to find the song she desired. Then, as an afterthought, she twisted at the waist to beam at the young woman standing in the doorway.

Her eyes twinkled and she beckoned exuberantly for the disinclined florist to approach the piano, as she knew how to play a few songs by Dionisi herself. She reinforced her offer verbally, "Come on, Dana."

The woman smiled and shook her head. "No, that's okay—you go ahead," she said politely, reluctant only because she had itching questions on the mind.

"Come on!" Marlene exclaimed, suddenly at the flower shop worker's side and tugging on her sleeve insistently.

Dana lowered her eyes to the girl contemplatively, and up to Barret and Tifa, both wearing bright, welcoming smiles. But she didn't really feel that she belonged here. In fact, she felt that she somehow intruded on their lives without so much as a by-your-leave, but Tifa had reached out to her, as if they knew each other already. But then… nearly two years… That _was_ a long time.

One day, Lockheart had come by to pick out flowers for Marlene—pink roses, which had become her favorite flower.

And no wonder. It undoubtedly had something to do with that strange red-eyed customer she had met only days before she met Tifa. A quiet type. And he couldn't be as "evil" as she once thought, since he'd spent more than thirty seconds in making his purchases. His distinctiveness, in fact, made her remember him after so long.

Tifa had told her about Vincent Valentine, and after a discussion that lasted much of the day—only a minor intrusion to Dana's few customers—she and Tifa had become quick friends.

It was nice, for lack of a better word, to have someone sweet to talk to after having suffered from social awkwardness from moving to the town a few years before, when it was still a ghost town…

"Yo, Dana, you gonna make a decision sometime in this lifetime?" Barret's joking voice cut her memories short, and she refocused her eyes just in time to catch the gently chiding glance towards him from Tifa.

The woman's eyes darted back to Dana's, and she gave her a knowing smile.

"Actually, I think that's enough piano for today," Tifa remarked suddenly, and turned to face the piano briefly to lower the lid over the black and white keys. Then she rose from the piano bench and returned her attention to the woman in the doorway.

"Dana, do you want to go with me to get some more flowers?"

"Me too!" Marlene exclaimed. Perhaps the prospect of more pink roses was enough to tear her away from the possibilities of her sketchbook. Or perhaps it was Tifa's company that did the trick. Dana could hardly blame the girl.

Tifa was ever ready to accommodate her. "Oh, why of—"

"Teef," Barret's deep voice cut in petulantly, "all yo' flowers are dyin', and you wanna buy more?"

She put her hands on her hips and lifted her chin in determination before returning proudly, "That's the perfect reason to get more!" And with that, she crossed the room and her burgundy eyes softened before landing on Dana once more.

"So how about it?" she repeated her offer.

She couldn't help but smile at Tifa's steady regard, that knowing quality still glinting in her burgundy gaze.

Dana knew, of course, that Tifa meant for them to leave so they could talk of serious matters. That gave Dana the opportunity to ask more questions about Vincent Valentine, a matter that they had frequently visited but seldom given more than a few moments of attention. Yes, it was time to discuss the matter in great detail.

At last, Dana smiled and nodded in accord. "You know, I almost forgot… I had some ads to put in the window anyway… Might as well do it now."

Barret glanced back and forth between the two women and rubbed the back of his neck. There was some major chick bonding going on—something that even little Marlene was in on; he supposed little ones learned fast—that he probably had scant hope of understanding, or at least was too tired to even give reasonable effort, and so he decided to catch up on some sleep. The great yawn overtaking his mouth a second later hinted that sleeping would indeed be wise, and he covered his gaping mouth with a hand.

"Yeah, bed time for me," he agreed to his body's counsel wholeheartedly, and waved to all except Marlene, who received a kiss on the cheek before her father made his exit.

Dana watched him go curiously, wondering if perhaps she said something she should not, before she saw Tifa at the corner of her eye, coming to her side. She sent her questioning eyes straight at her with a shrug. "Is he okay?"

Tifa nodded. "He sure is. He just had a busy time at work. Once he rests up, he'll be good to go."

Marlene scurried past to get her shoes on, eager now that she had the images of flowers in her head.

Tifa smiled after her and said absently to Dana, "So… shall we?"

"Before Marlene beats us there? Good idea," she replied with an adoring smile.

* * *

Tifa was quite a reflective girl, or so Dana noticed. She was smart and kind too. She could be tough as well, but she was also… lonely.

Beautiful, intelligent, sweet, and strong… Her loneliness made her stupid, and Dana tossed away the coyness she displayed earlier to tell her so bluntly.

"Why's that?" Tifa returned.

"Because you can have any man you want and go wherever you please, but you chose to be here in Nibelheim instead." Mr. Valentine, after all, who had known Tifa Lockheart longer than Dana, must have noted similar qualities in her unless he was a fool.

After a time, Tifa replied in an uncharacteristically toneless voice, "I have everything I need here…"

Dana chewed on her lip guiltily as Tifa taped up an ad in the window, a small chore that she didn't have to do but acted obligated anyway. There was no use arguing with her on matters like that. She just hoped that the girl didn't end up cleaning up the store or something ridiculous like that. It would exhaust her before she got to work in only a few hours later that day, and even when one was energetic as Tifa Lockheart, bar tending and waiting tables were difficult tasks to perform even when one was fully rested and ready to go. Dana would know; it had been her first job.

She shook her head at the hopeless girl and eyed the rows of flowers, suddenly distracted by Marlene's slight form leaning over the display of roses, inhaling their scent while admiring the variety of shades.

…_A pink rose…_

…_White chrysanthemums... red carnations…_

Ah yes, that was the reminder Dana needed.

Smiling, she leaned her hip against the counter, wondering if the other worker, Sandra, had noticed Marlene's simple, yet cute behavior. But Sandra was rummaging around in one of the cabinets behind the counter searching madly for something, while Dana searched for proper words. Once she realized that it was just as simple to say that Tifa was wrong, she eyed her friend once more and crossed her arms defiantly.

"You know, Tifa, I bet you don't."

The brunette turned to face her friend assertively, her eyes darkening with warning. She knew that they had traveled down this route before many times and probably had no desire to revisit, but Dana wasn't going to back down in this instance. Tifa parted her lips to speak, but Dana cut in.

"He's not coming back, Tifa," she went on. "You need to go after him—"

"He left for a reason, Dana…"

"Well… he gave you those gifts for a reason too," she answered a bit lamely, despite the strength of her point. Dana looked down at the counter, trying to see from Tifa's point of view so she could see why she was acting so stubborn… but… she could be stubborn too, sometimes…

…The man's appearance had been startling—obviously, if she remembered him after so long. It's usually the weird ones that she remembered anyway. But he couldn't have been bad at all, since he took more than two minutes to pick his choices of flowers and looked so pensive in the process. A romantic, albeit a bit too quiet for Dana's tastes.

"I want one," Dana mumbled.

"Huh?"

She looked up to see Tifa regarding her quizzically, her hands on her hips.

"Um… Nothing… Anyway, Tifa," she began patiently, "you said you would look for him. If a guy brought me gifts like that… I'd trace his footsteps, knock him unconscious, and maybe… carry him away with me."

Tifa's questioning expression instantly transformed into amusement, and the claret eyes sparkled. "Would you?"

Dana shrugged and looked out the window to watch a happy couple as they walked on the sidewalk, their clasped hands swinging back and forth as two children might while walking home after a long day of fun and games.

She blamed her next romantic comment on the couple, in fact. Damn them for walking by.

"I wouldn't, since I think he wants you," Dana replied slowly. "From everything you've told me… from all I've experienced… I've had a few boyfriends, Tifa… I've seen how guys function." _Alright, so it's been awhile since I've had one, but still…_

"Vincent doesn't want me," she protested testily. A little gentler, she added, "And he's… different… from other guys."

"Different… I'll give you that, but… he's still a man. They're all the same, underneath it all. As strange as he may seem… he has desires just like everyone else… I mean… Right?" She looked back at Tifa, who was nowhere to be seen.

"…Tifa?"

She glanced over at Sandra once more, who still dug through the drawers, obviously unaware of the exchange going on behind her. In that case, she wouldn't know about Tifa disappearing randomly…

Frowning, Dana stepped away from the counter to scan down the aisles of flowers, pausing when she found her friend standing in front of the chrysanthemums.

Smiling weakly, Dana approached her friend with careful, slow footsteps, and tilted her head to a side so she could see Tifa's face behind the deep coffee colored veil of her hair.

"Tifa…"

Tifa lifted her face slightly and gave a seemingly genuine smile, a smile meant to deceive Dana into thinking that everything was okay. But she knew better, she could see through the pretense, and she wasn't going to let Tifa off the hook just yet. Besides, Dana just… wanted her to be happy.

"Tifa, what are you afraid of…?"

The fake smile vanished and thoughtful brown eyes slid down to regard the old tile floors, her delicate brow crinkling.

"I need awhile to think about it, Dana."

Dana nodded. "Well… just… don't wait forever… I mean… It would suck if he went after some other girl…"

Once more, Tifa smiled, albeit naturally this time, and shook her head at that. "You know… I promised myself to go after him… months ago."

"So… What are you waiting here for?"

"Well, other than what we talked about… First of all… I don't know where the hell he is… and second… my work."

"Oh, you mean… your manager—"

"Yeah, that guy."

"So… we can create a diversion so you can leave?"

Tifa's smile turned wry and she lifted her eyes to her friend. "The thing is… I'd like to have a job when I come back home…"

_You would come back home after this…?_

"I guess…"

"Complicates things, I know, having to work so I could… ya know… eat." She shook her head. "Anyway… I guess… It's not a big deal at all. I'm just thinking more than I should… I'll talk to Dave and hopefully he'll give me some days off." She shrugged and gave a careless smile. "If not, he could take it out of my pay."

_There's the willful girl I know. _

Tifa looked over her shoulder at Marlene, who now carried a mixed bouquet in her hand and slowly waltzed in one aisle, humming to herself. Still smiling, she murmured, "You know, Dana… I think I can do this… I should go visit some old pals along the way… Maybe head to Rockettown first…"

At last, Dana had talked some sense into her. And… now she was sounding a little smarter.

* * *

Barret raised an eyebrow. "You think Valentine would hang in Rockettown with Cid for long?" he asked incredulously.

She shook her head, frowning. "I don't expect him to be there, but there's a chance that he passed through… and if so… I'd like to know."

"And if he didn't?"

"Then I'll be visiting friends—a reunion long overdue." She tilted her head to a side questioningly. "You wanna come?"

"Can't." Tifa frowned in disappointment at that, but was somewhat appeased by his following explanation. "I'm not able to take anymore days off at work… an' besides… Marlene will need lookin' after… Your house too…"

She nodded in agreement. "Yes… and Dana…" At his confused expression, she turned pleading. "Oh, you don't mind, do you, Bear? I just don't want her to be lonely while I'm gone…" _And I don't know when the heck I'm coming back…_

He shook his head, lips turned down. "Not a problem… I'm jus' surprised is all… 'cause she ain't going with you…"

Dana had talked her into going yesterday, and Tifa remembered to ask if she wanted to come too this morning. "She didn't seem willing when I asked her this morning… so…" _I would have preferred some company, but… I guess I'll do it alone._

"Well, then… Just take it easy and…" He suddenly narrowed his dark brown eyes at her intently. "You sure you're doin' this? It's been awhile…"

"I've waited long enough, Bear."

"Fine… but still… Be careful around Valentine… That is, if you find him…" His gaze strayed from hers at the thought.

"I'll go around the world if I have to."

His eyes sharpened on her face again at her reply. "That so?"

"Yes, that is so."

"Well then… would you mind if I asked ya… what about Cloud? You gonna jus' forget about him…?"

She shook her head at once, even though she wasn't expecting to hear that name brought up any time soon. "To forget him would be… a challenge… But it's easier for me to move on now that… now that I know he has someone." _She's not Aeris… but… she might be enough to make him happy…_

"And… you're not angry?"

"No… not angry… just… well…" She sighed at her lack of capacity for words on this topic. "Never mind… Maybe one day he and I will talk this over… to give us some…"

"Closure."

"Yeah…"

"Good idea…"

Awkward silence…And… wow… It had been so long since she'd experienced one of those with Barret Wallace. In fact, it had been awhile since they discussed anything of this importance at length…

But before things could get too uncomfortable, he chuckled a little and brought her hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "You're a tough-ass cookie, Teef," he said quietly. "You know that?"

With a wan smile, she shook her head and answered, "I try…"

A moment later, she withdrew from the comfort of his strong embrace, wished him goodnight, and returned to the quiet of her room.

Shortly after, Tifa threw her weight onto the bed and held a pillow tightly to stifle the sound of her groan. Tomorrow and the days after would be taxing. In fact, she probably would go mad, but she would try to keep her cool. If she couldn't keep Vincent Valentine's friendship as a result of it, then so be it.

Bottom line… if she didn't go, she would feel terrible. Worse, she would worry about him constantly. Maybe she needed even more distractions. She should work for an orphanage maybe…

"Tifa?"

At the familiar sound of Marlene's voice, Tifa sat up, clutching the pillow to her chest as she turned to face the girl standing quietly in the doorway, smiling slightly.

She noted that Marlene had her sketchbook tucked under one arm, and returned the smile with a gentle one of her own. "Do you have pictures to show me, Marlene?"

The girl nodded slowly and hurried across the floor, her eyes downcast as though she was ashamed of coming.

"I always love to see your drawings," Tifa told the girl as she sat down beside her on the mattress. A faint blush came to Marlene's cheeks as she opened the book to the desired page.

As Tifa flipped through the book, often complimenting Marlene's color choice and style, the girl's head fell comfortably against Tifa, her round eyes glued to the pages.

"...Tifa?" the girl asked after a moment.

"Yes?"

"Are you going to see him?" It made him sound like an attraction at the amusement park.

"_Step right up; see for yourself and witness the deadly aim of The Red-Caped One! Match his aim and you can win a Moogle doll!" Er… Make that a Vincent doll…_

Tifa absently turned another page of the sketchbook, on the verge of a smile at her nonsensical thoughts.

"Who do you mean, Marlene?" she asked, even though she knew the answer.

The girl drew back slightly; Tifa turned her head to look at her. Marlene's little brow rucked in slight irritation; she hadn't spoken his name for a reason, Tifa was certain.

"Vincent..."

Tifa studied Marlene curiously before answering. She must have missed him, after all. He'd always taken good care of her, had always thought of her.

"Yes... I mean... if I can find him."

Marlene's expression turned beseeching, her brown eyes bright with hope. "Then... will you give him a picture for me...?"

"Oh, of course... Which one of these is it?"

Marlene gently pulled the sketchbook out of Tifa's grasp and flipped to the very back, where Tifa discovered a colorful summer scene: Marlene and Barret walking on one side of a cobblestone street, and Vincent and Tifa on the other, holding hands. Above them was a perfectly blue sky, a pair of birds flying, and the yellow-orange sphere of the sun, its bright rays spread across the entire picture.

Tifa blushed and couldn't help but smile. For everything Marlene had lived through, it was a relief that she still kept her spirits up, and her drawings nowhere near morbid. Perhaps Tifa's cooking had done her good…

She turned adoring eyes to Marlene's face, and the girl smiled a little, unsure.

"Do you think he'd like it, Tifa?"

"Of course!" she answered, and wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her against her side. She returned her eyes to the picture, on Vincent's figure. She lifted a finger to the hair that consisted of black scribbles. "And this... looks just like his hair..."

A bit of mischievousness darkened her eyes slightly. "But... this is missing something," she added.

Alarmed, Marlene studied the drawing closely, frowning as she missed Tifa's humorous expression. "What... did I forget something?"

"Not at all." In fact, Marlene had even drawn in Vincent's claw, and Tifa pointed to it dramatically. "That. You need to add something to it... a chocolate bar... maybe..."

She regarded Marlene again, relieved to find her face smiling once again. "And candles!" the girl exclaimed.

Tifa furrowed her brow in bewilderment at that. "...Candles?" she repeated. "Why candles...?"

Marlene stood up and gestured wildly with her hands, her shyness apparently forgotten for the time being. "Because Vincent would always smell like... like your Christmas candles!"

"Oh..." She smiled faintly at the reminder of those cinnamon and spice candles. She never really took the time to smell… Vincent… but…

"Well, I'm sure he doesn't smell like them anymore," she gathered, as he hadn't been around her candles for quite some time. "He probably smells like... like..."

"...Guns?" Marlene suggested helpfully.

Tifa laughed and nodded. "Maybe… Hmm… If I see him... I'll be sure to let you know how he smells... okay?"

The girl nodded and smiled sheepishly. "So... no candles then..."

Tifa nodded firmly and gestured to the drawing again. "Right, just a chocolate bar..."

"Okay," Marlene said slowly. "But... everyone in the picture should have some... and the birds too."

"...The birds? I don't know if they'd like chocolate..."

"Well... we don't know that," Marlene reasoned.

And that made a strange sort of sense to Tifa. "Ya know… you're right. They need chocolate too..."

Marlene beamed at her success and threw her arms around Tifa in a hug that nearly knocked her back, before eagerly gathering up her sketchbook and scampering off--a girl on a mission.

Smilingly, Tifa let out a sigh as she watched the girl run off, and decided that first and foremost, she would bake Marlene and Barret something sweet before she went away.

* * *

Author's note: First of all, I apologize for the wait. In fact, I'd meant to have a double—nay—triple update. (Don't laugh.) Second of all, I apologize again… And third, I know it's a pain in the ass sometimes to add OCs and the florist's reappearance might seem unusual, but at least this isn't a story with me disguised as an eff-ing girl named "Flower" from another world with a magic locket and no memory of her past or something like that, right?

This chapter is very "eh." I suppose it will be more interesting once Tifa and Vincent run into each other. The line about Tifa and an orphanage—a tiny reference to Advent Children (duh), but I haven't seen it yet. (Don't ruin it for me or I'll eviscerate you with a tissue. Oh, I have my ways.)

Depeche Mode helped me out with this chapter. Bunches. Many thanks to all for reading… and anyone I forgot in the other thank-you's… er… YO JOE!


	4. Chapter 4

Just a Few Reminders – 4

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, events, places, etc; belong to Square-enix. All other characters and the story belong to me. Don't sue because I'm just writing this for fun, and if you suggest otherwise that just… Well, that sucks.

* * *

The plate fell.

It was a completely human and normal occurrence—all humans were flawed—but he spent an immeasurable length of time staring blankly at the mess. It was a small measure of destruction that held more significance than the ceramic fragments on Mara Thompson's floor.

His fingers had twitched at the sound of the crash, and he shifted his attention to the claw that inflicted the damage.

He was guilty of grasping a certain conflict in his head, in which he kept several delusions that he could hold something without breaking it, only to deny those fantasies, and once again that conflict came to mind. Quite simply, it was just one of those days where he had little patience for anything, least of all himself. Red eyes flared and his lips curled in a sneer.

"You okay, Vincent?"

He failed to acknowledge the slightly alarmed voice at first, as he was distracted by his thoughts, and gathered his metal fingers into a fist.

Then he turned his head to look over at the old woman, who had suddenly stood up at the sound of the crash. Her fingers sought her cane as though she expected to walk over to him.

"Vincent…?"

"…I'm fine. Sit down." He regretted the sharp tone of his command when she frowned slightly, but was relieved when she obliged a moment later.

Once he saw she was settled in her seat, with her hands no longer bothering with the cane, he relaxed the metal fingers to drag the trash can over to him, and knelt down to clean up the pieces.

He was tempted more than ever to conduct the destruction of the limb in a messy, untamed way. Or better yet, use it to end his life before he could do further damage with it. But his body regenerated too quickly, and pain was too brief—perhaps too precious—and too easily forgotten.

"It can be replaced," she said after a time.

He sharply turned his head to look at her, uncomprehending. And narrowed his eyes at her peaceful expression. Had she read his mind?

"What?" he asked in a tone a fewer degrees colder than he'd intended. Again.

"The dish…? It's no big deal."

"I'm sorry," he said, a bit belatedly too, he thought.

"It's okay, Vincent… You didn't have to do my dishes anyway."

Without any sort of reply, he silently turned his head back to the task at hand.

Once he was done, he rose to his feet and informed her, "I'm leaving now." He leaned over to send the trash can away from him and crossed the floor.

"Perhaps I should not ask," he went on as he considered her curious features.

She crinkled her already lined forehead at his hesitance. "Ask me what?"

"Is there anything else you need before I go?" …_That I can break for you?_

"No, Vincent… I suppose you're going to work now…?"

He pulled back his sleeve to check his watch and nodded to himself. "Indeed."

He immediately let himself out, only to pause when he pulled the door open. He glanced over his shoulder at her to confirm that which made him pause. "You will lock the door behind me?"

She made a face and answered, "You don't need to tell me that."

_You know nothing of it…_

"…Perhaps not."

"Bye, Vince…"

Vince? It had been awhile since someone called him that. Years, even.

"Goodbye."

He closed the door behind him, and stood in the hallway patiently until he heard her latch the door, before he moved silently down the hall. His ritual. Perhaps a way to put a barrier between them—if even a pitiful one—should his demons get the best of him. It would lessen the guilt should something go wrong. He didn't want to think what _could_ happen, even though Chaos lingered at the corner of his thoughts as though to mock him. And he could not allow that demon in particular to overpower him.

* * *

He admitted to himself that he was hoping for one person's approval in particular, but he was far from expecting it, and she was far from this village, much to both his fortune and despair. Even though he didn't care much for the townspeople's collective approval, he let himself think on the matter anyway. Perhaps because in a quiet place such as this, one often just had his thoughts to accompany him. That suited Vincent well enough.

With the menacing appendage that made up his left arm from the forearm to the claw with wickedly sharp fingers; and with messy black hair against a starkly pale face; and a pair of blood-red eyes that often glowed ominously if not unemotionally besides, he might have appeared to some as the image of Death painted by a madman. The eldest inhabitants of town might have thought he came up North just to do them in, for they had seen much in all their years: the cycles of war, giant comets descending to Earth, colossal monsters, and other threats.

His employers and fellow workers thought that he was a threat to the business with his frightening aspect, but beyond his exterior that no doubt scared away potential customers, they had little ground for complaint. He kept the glass display cases clean and the weapons both on and off shelves spotless, perhaps to the point of obsession. When other workers were lacking, he made up for their failures or absences with additional work on his parts. On the odd occasion, he also ran errands for the manager, which sometimes led to excess payment.

And when he had nothing to do, which was often, he would pull out from his spacious coat pocket a book to read. Every few days, when he left work, he gave the old book vendor business, timed conveniently enough so that the bookstore closed roughly an hour after he left.

No, he was not Death himself, but he readily brought it with him wherever he went… namely when he kept an eye out for the town's inhabitants.

Let them think what they wanted.

Curiously enough, he noticed that the children weren't afraid of him, and if they were, they were much better at hiding their discomfort than their elders…

…As though the children knew of his intentions and were willing to accept his protection…

As though they were blind…

Were they ignorant, then, or were they simply more admirable than their elders? Or did their parents also regard him with a combination of gratefulness and terror, and that gave the children an unusual peace?

Whatever the answer, these questions and many others came to Vincent Valentine's mind often, typically in these moments when he departed the weapon shop to return to his apartment.

He recognized two of the children—a blonde girl and a red-headed boy—from a few days past. Two bandersnatches had come too close to the village, while the children propelled snowballs at each other only yards away.

Usually, the adults in Icicle Village kept an eye out for their offspring, especially with the knowledge of creatures nearby. But not that night. And it had been pure chance that he looked up—thank the gods he looked up—and out the snow laden window to see the wolf-like creatures prowling nearby. Impulsively, he'd bolted out the door, armed with his fully loaded pistol, and fired a shot in the air, a move proposed to scare the monsters away. He moved swiftly across the snow where a normal man would have trudged laboriously.

Violence had been inevitable, Vincent knew, for bandersnatches only came when they were hungry. The children would have been torn to shreds, and the bandersnatches would return more frequently, once detecting the weak point in the town's defense system.

But it took two shots to end the creatures.

The children had run inside during that encounter, but within a few hours they were outside playing once more, which brought his thoughts back… to now.

He appeared to them as simply another guardian, another adult in the village to take care of them. But if they realized the monstrosity that he was, they would surely run inside like they did when they finally noticed the bandersnatches nearly upon them that night.

Once those thoughts left him, he pulled on his jacket and took a step off the wooden floors of the weapon shop to let his boots crunch in the snow. The door closed behind him, and then he lifted his head just in time to prevent a collision with the blonde girl as she suddenly darted past him.

But not with the snowball that hit him in the right thigh. And it didn't hurt, but there was something irritating about having one part of his leg wet while the rest of his body was relatively dry.

On the other hand, perhaps he appeared to the children as… target practice.

He heard the suppressed giggle of the girl—no doubt the one for whom the snowball was intended—to his right, and looked in the opposite direction.

The red-head who threw the snowy projectile stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at Vincent Valentine, as though to apologize for his unintentional assault. He held another perfectly round snowball in one gloved fist. Emotionlessly, Vincent met the boy's worried gaze head-on, only to indifferently turn his head back to see the little girl, her smile mischievous—perhaps at the thought that her companion would be in severe trouble, except that he wasn't. Even though Vincent Valentine was in a sour mood for no particular reason. As if he ever was in a good one…

Vincent lowered his eyes to the spot on his leg and leaned over a little to silently brush the snow off his pants. Then he straightened and sharply turned back to face the boy, whose worried expression suddenly became disturbingly smug.

_In that case…_

"Your aim is lacking," Vincent pointed out bluntly with a crumb of hidden satisfaction, especially as the boy's face fell at the insult, and then turned his head to continue to the apartment building.

"Sorry, dude!" the boy shouted to his back, an apology which Vincent chose to ignore, especially as any regret in the child's voice seemed misplaced with his sudden burst of uninhibited giggling.

For the moment, he closed the children out of his mind and scanned the perimeter of the village with keen eyes. Once, twice. And again. Creatures other than bandersnatches might come, but… these people had lived here for much longer than Vincent, and the children would no doubt return home soon…

He heard their combined laughter behind him just before the snowball fight commenced once again, and he hurried into the heated building to discourage further snowball threats from the giggly child brigade.

He was a bit surprised to find Mara Thompson standing outside his apartment, knocking on his door, and for a moment he stopped a few paces away to slump against the wall and just watched her, mildly curious. It was not an uncommon sight, however. She mumbled to herself, unaware of his presence even though he could certainly hear himself when he stomped the snow off his boots as soon as he entered the building.

"What time does that damn boy get home...?" she muttered to the door, as though it might have something of import to tell her. After, a moment, she sighed and turned to move down the hall toward him, her cane tapping the floor as she did so.

Did Mara Thompson ever hear the townspeople blathering on about his claw and possible reasons for it being there? Did she hear the gunshots when he killed the bandersnatches? Or perhaps she merely worried about how many dishes he might break next time he visited.

Shaking his head at the thought, he stepped against the wall to move out of her way and asked suddenly, "Are you looking for someone, Mrs. Thompson?"

She paused and turned her head slightly, frowning in recognition. "Vincent Valentine," she said deliberately.

"Himself."

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she then lifted a gnarled finger to point an accusing finger just to the side of his shoulder.

"Didn't you tell me you were going to take me to the play?"

His eyebrows rose at that. He could only recall the meeting he had this morning. Breakfast with Mrs. Thompson. He attended to the very few appointments he had. It was highly unlikely that he had one now, anyway. Especially as Icicle Village didn't hold plays… or any events other than holiday ones… as far as he knew.

"...Not that I can recall."

"Damn... then who was it that said...?"

Was it a memory from years ago, or one she imagined? Drawing his key out of his pocket, he walked past her as she babbled on to herself, and then unlocked his door before turning to her once more.

"No matter, Mrs. Thompson," he politely interpolated. "Will you be returning to your–"

"Ah… yes... Thank you, Vincent," she said, her brow knitted in unease.

He frowned in his puzzlement at her unnecessary gratitude, and then bowed his head as he stepped into his apartment.

And caught himself.

He stopped in the doorway briefly to look back at the old woman until she found her room. Waited until he heard her latch the door behind her. Then he withdrew into his place and closed the door, acquainted with solitude once again.

* * *

A/N: I might pull a few ideas from Square-enix's other creations, but for the most part, I just used the original game. Is that cheating? Well, too bad. I just assume Vincent's claw to be a prosthetic… Just in case it turns out to be a stupid gauntlet, I thought I'd cover my ass. A gunslinger-Turk-type-badass would probably keep both hands flexible and not unwieldy, I'd think, unless a screwed up scientist guy took his love interest, shot him, and then did gruesome experiments on him… cut off his arm… dressed him up like a Goth boy, instantly making him delicious to mostly all females eyeing his polygonal glory… threw him in a coffin… Just thought I'd mention that in case anyone feels like complaining on that score.

By the way, in AC… Vincent sounds like Christian Bale's Batman with that raspy voice of his. He's becoming addicted to Cid's ciggies, maybe. This is a sexy voice, but not what I imagined for him, IMHO. Ah well. I could make fun of those voices all day… READ ON, MY LONGTIME COMPANDAS.


	5. Chapter 5

Just a Few Reminders – 5

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, events, places, etc; belong to Square-enix. All other characters and the story belong to me. Don't sue because I'm just writing this for fun, and if you suggest otherwise that just… Well, that sucks.

* * *

The woman's eyes strayed to the young girl's modified drawing, and she smiled faintly at the sight of half-eaten candy bars in a hand—or claw—of each character she drew, including the birds flying overhead. It made her hungry just thinking about it, but she knew she couldn't stay much longer.

"…Tifa," the little girl's quiet voice began, "will you have to fight again?"

The woman looked down at Marlene before reaching for one glove. "There aren't too many monsters anymore, but I might have to..." She'd been working out, of course, but she might be a tad rusty on her fighting skills in particular. It would be horrible to put her martial arts skills to waste after so long, and it would be pretty damn sad if she didn't make it to Rockettown in one piece too. She glanced over her shoulder with a dry smile.

"Marlene, would you hand me that materia please?" Two mastered materia orbs, just in case she stumbled upon anything that her fists couldn't handle. It had been awhile since she passed through the mountains.

"Are you going to be gone for awhile?" Marlene asked as she gingerly, obediently placed the materia orbs on the table.

"I'm really not sure," Tifa answered deliberately, somewhat distracted as she set the materia orbs in their appropriate slots. She flexed her hands impulsively, and once the gloves fit to her satisfaction, she shifted her entire regard to the young girl. "…But I won't be gone forever..."

Marlene seemed appeased by that fact, but only slightly.

"Why do you ask?" Tifa added, even though she knew the answer already.

Apparently discomfited, the girl hid her eyes from Tifa behind her shoulder-length hair. "Because... if you leave... then... Papa will leave me too."

It had been awhile since Marlene had referred to Barret as such, but… she was certainly entitled to call him that name.

Tifa knelt down and regarded the girl gravely, gently reaching over to brush her feather-soft dark hair aside. "Why do you think that, Marlene?" She suspected she knew the answer to that question too, but she had to be sure.

The girl frowned and lowered her eyes, but didn't reply.

"Marlene?" she gently urged.

"...Because he's left before... And he's not home as much… just like—"

"It's not going to be like it was before," Tifa cut in unflinchingly, but her eyes were soft with understanding. "He might leave to go to work, but he's doing it to earn enough money to buy a home, and pay for your schooling on his own… and he loves you very much, Marlene. And I think—no… I _know_ he's trying," she finished with an encouraging smile.

"Yeah," she agreed with a sigh.

"And... Dana will be here too, to keep you company…"

"The flower girl?" she asked in a hopeful whisper.

Parting her lips absently, Tifa stared into her round, brown eyes in wonderment. The flower girl… _Of course._ Perhaps that was just what Tifa relived when she spent time with Dana... all those times she could have shared with Aeris Gainsborough... all those flowers she placed around the house... Not just a reminder of Vincent Valentine, but of a cherished friend lost, and one gained...

And Aeris had taken care of Marlene, hadn't she? In the gravest of times, when all odds were against _her_. That woman was so brave… It was no wonder that…

_Ugh, don't go there…_

A slow, nostalgic smile came to her lips. "Yes, Marlene, the flower girl… She'll take care of you."

Marlene beamed at that idea, and brought her arms around Tifa in a firm embrace.

A frown replaced Tifa's brightened eyes and dimming smile as she answered the hug. Thoughts of her late friend gave way to Vincent Valentine once more. A feeling of urgency overcame her. She didn't want to waste any more time here… On the other hand, she almost wanted to bring Marlene along, as a kind of excuse, if she actually found him… but she knew that would make her a sort of coward…

Her eyes slid out of focus as she went deep into her thoughts, and she turned her cheek against the little girl's hair as she unconsciously tightened her arms around her.

* * *

She armed herself with a number of supplies in her bag, including Shera's favorite brand of dried candies from the grocery store, some herbal teas for Cid, and a stuffed, plush mountain chocobo toy for their child, because—much to Tifa's embarrassment—she couldn't recall if it was a boy or a girl. After all, every kid loved chocobos, so in the worst case scenario, the child might have hundreds of chocobo toys already.

Once she said her quick goodbyes, she left for Mt. Nibel that morning. When she stood at the foot of the mountain she had to pause to recall what sort of creatures she might face. Another reason why she couldn't bring Marlene... The place had so many memories and so many dangers.

It was also unfamiliar terrain in many ways, even though she'd traveled this trail a few times. As now, she recalled traversing the ground with Cloud Strife and the former Turk, Vincent Valentine.

Once they had left the Shinra Mansion for Mt.Nibel, Vincent had greeted the sunlight with a brief wince and a sharpening of his pupils, and he had been so quiet for most of the journey. She hadn't trusted the ex-Turk much after having just met him, but she had no reason _not _to trust him just because he was so quiet and mysterious. It must have been so shocking to find the world changed after all those years he slept. She never wanted to single him out in any way, so she just accepted his company. At any rate, when he did speak, he gave warnings to his companions if enemies or other dangers were nearby, so at least he cared enough to notify them of threats. Otherwise, there was rarely idle conversation with Vincent Valentine, but during their flights on the Highwind, Tifa would often covertly look over her shoulder to find him speaking quietly with Nanaki. Much too quietly for her to hear. But they were probably talking about dry philosophical or end-of-the-world type matters anyway.

While he wasn't much of a talker, Vincent Valentine was a skilled gunslinger, and a handy fighter to have around. He would take impeccable aim with remarkable ease, despite being locked in the mansion for so long, and when the Quicksilver fired it rang through her ears in a startling resonance. The first of his transformations had startled her too. While those transformations hadn't harmed the group, she recalled jumping in surprise at the sight of the beast he became, especially when Vincent first transformed into Galian. Afterward, she'd looked over to judge Cloud's reaction. The blue-eyed warrior's eyes had widened in amazement for the briefest of moments, before he set his gaze forward and a thin smile of relief or smugness touched his lips. Tifa might have spent more time watching Cloud Strife's changing expressions, if she hadn't been taken by the thought of Galian in action. She'd thought twice about it when she realized she didn't want to know exactly what type of damage the beast could inflict, and followed Cloud's suit to focus on the battle at hand.

No… This time, she would take this path on her own, she was sure.

Currently, it was a cool, overcast day, with no trace of sunlight trying to peek through the clouds, as though the sun gave up for the day. But after all, clouds always drifted away, and the sun would try again. And she hoped for a calm night to follow, so she wouldn't see too many clouds at all—just all the shimmering, unsullied stars in the inky fabric of the evening sky.

She'd probably trip over her shoes if she looked up for too long, but at least she wouldn't have to see any clouds.

…And the fact that the cold air didn't bother her made her wary, despite the light jacket she now wore. She thought of this to avoid thinking about something else that had inevitably crossed her contrary mind.

At some point, she had passed through an unusual change, in which old promises and wells and all the implications didn't affect her every thought. She no longer lived for a guy who didn't know himself, who didn't care for her beyond a relationship a brother might hold for his sister. That relationship should have been enough for her. Almost sacred, in fact…

That same guy didn't let anyone in except a now absent girl with a pink ribbon and a basket of flowers that gave off a calming redolence… something that must have reminded him more of home than someone who often wore two dangling earrings and an old pair of fighting gloves. And a smile, whether it be forced or genuine. But all of Tifa Lockheart's smiles were for Cloud Strife.

She lowered her eyes and sighed.

Tifa thought it was enough to have these things… Spirit and strength. Beauty too, according to what everyone told her, and what she saw when she looked in the mirror, but she didn't like to dwell on that. She wanted Cloud Strife to appreciate _her_. Her personality traits, both good and bad. And while he appreciated her, he didn't… love her… the way she wanted him to love her. She couldn't control Cloud Strife, or know his intentions for sure. He went his own way and he never really told her why or where… He never really… let her in…

Cloud possibly had found his other half in some fiery girl with equally fiery red hair whose name Tifa mysteriously forgot. Tifa wanted to find her own place too, if in fact she had one; whether or not she would find that place was unknown to her now. A smoldering pair of red eyes pulled at her thoughts.

Now, she wanted to find a man who might have appreciated her in _that way_, but he didn't let her know much else beyond those beautiful gifts he gave her. Those gifts, however simple, had made her so happy that she couldn't think about anything else but him. And now she wanted to find him, and make him happy too.

_Right..._

Such a task was just as easy as putting on your socks… if your socks were made of unbound, worn-out strings. Vincent Valentine probably wouldn't let her in either. And just what did Tifa Lockheart have that Valentine could want anyway, besides her knowledge of his loves of chocolate, reading, sulking, and spending time with the many guns in his collection? Probably nothing. At least, no ideas came to her then. In fact, he probably wanted nothing more than to be left alone, and Tifa already told herself that she couldn't allow that. She had to try, and really, what did she have to lose except… time?

A squawk from above forced her to tilt her head back in curiosity at the unusual bird cry. Then she narrowed her eyes. Two birds circled several feet above her, their giant wingspans and long, hooked talons reminiscent of the Zuu she had fought before.

She let her pack slip off her shoulder and down her arm to the gravel below. Afterward, she pushed up her jacket sleeves and turned her fingers into tight fists. At the same time, she took three large steps backward to better keep the birds in her sights and track them as they suddenly descended toward her.

Tifa ducked as the first bird flew toward her from the right, but could not avoid the other bird that yanked at her hair with its sharp talons, grazing her scalp. Gritting her teeth, she slammed an unforgiving fist into the bird's body, effectively sending it fluttering backward. The bird swiftly recovered the blow and promptly returned, its talons stretching for her menacingly.

Anticipating the move, she grabbed the bird with both hands and flung it against the second bird; the latter of which had especially been caught unawares, and the two staggered in the air in a muddled mass of feathers as they were hurled away.

At the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a third bird, swooping in low from the left. Instinctively, she spun and lifted one leg in a graceful roundhouse kick that knocked the bird back several feet. The now disoriented bird struggled to fly to her again, but she didn't have time to deal with it at the moment.

The enemies behind her cawed loudly to voice their displeasure but also successfully reminded her of their continued presence. She whirled around to meet them with both fists raised.

Just as they squawked once more, almost in unison, she offered each swiftly approaching enemy a fast-flying fist. One of them smartly evaded the punch, but the other took a crushing blow to the head from the impact with her fist at such flying speeds. Then it fluttered feebly and bloodily to the ground with a brief squall of pain.

Meanwhile, the quicker bird had speedily returned to her and dug its talons into her shoulder. She let out a broken gasp of pain and batted at the creature with her other hand, a move that only made the bird tighten its grip on her skin to draw blood. With a growling curse worthy of Cid Highwind, she jammed her fist more forcefully into the bird's face. It released her and fluttered upward to recover, but she grabbed it and squeezed its neck until it gave beneath her fingers with an audible snap.

Next, she spun around with the dead bird in hand and threw it away from her, barely missing the struggling, disoriented bird with her makeshift projectile.

Ignoring the unrelenting throbbing in her shoulder for a time, she ran at the third bird to deliver a flurry of well-placed punches to its head. The bloodied creature fell without a cry to suffer the same fate as the first bird.

Those threats aside, she glanced around to make sure there were no more birds or other predators about. At last, with a heavy sigh, she stepped over to the bird carcass and narrowed her eyes. Although these guys looked like Zuu, they were a tad smaller in size, and of a brownish color, with bright green streaks around the eyes, a trait she had noted when they came for her. They must have been hybrids of some sort, but at any rate, she was glad to be rid of them.

Subsequently, as she pushed her jacket sleeves back down her arms, she crossed the uneven ground to retrieve her pack. When she bent to reach for it, a white-hot pain rushed to her shoulder, and she straightened with a wince as she noted the blood seeping through her light jacket.

Then she smiled without mirth. She must've truly been out of practice if a trio of birds could kick her ass. Certainly, she'd fought through worse conditions.

She brought her Restore materia into view and cast a low-level curing spell on herself, surrounding herself in a faint, sparkling green glow. A pleasant tingling sensation replaced the pain in her arm, as well as the part of her head that had briefly been assaulted. The magic particles dissolved in the cool air and soon the tingling also abated, her injuries now fully healed.

That done, she bent for her pack once more and straightened to adjust one strap over her shoulder. She redirected herself to the correct path, and sighed again.

She sure did have a lot between her and her goal. At least, she would have the pleasure of seeing Cid again when she made it out of here.

Without so much as another upward glance to the clouds overhead, she continued through the mountain trail once more.

* * *

A/N (again!): It's been awhile since I've written an action scene, but it's the first you guys have ever seen. I was conflicted… I wanted to use some kind of bird creature, but all the monster names are so stupid. Just go to your nearest monstrous manual and check it out. The Zuu-hybrid-type thing just seemed to work, at any rate.

Thanks to all for sticking with me, even though I suck at updating. There was a lot of rewriting going on because I completely changed my mind about how I was writing the thing. Not to mention I had a few distractions as well. I apologize for those who waited patiently. Hopefully the double update will make up for it. Or perhaps not… And if you haven't read the previous stories before this, _please_ _do so_ because they're short, and will explain a few things, such as… why Vincent has a freaking stuffed animal in his apartment.

Till next time, which will be…. Only God knows when. But hopefully not too long a wait. Devours a container of strawberries.


	6. Chapter 6

Just a Few Reminders – 6

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy 7 and all its characters, events, places, etc; belong to Square-enix. All other characters and the story belong to me. Don't sue because I'm just writing this for fun, and if you suggest otherwise that just… Well, that sucks.

-

The day Tifa left for Rockettown, Barret Wallace laced up his old boots, ready to work in an hour or so. He listened to the sound of Marlene and Dana chatting softly in the other room.

He crept across the hall and peeked into the open doorway. They were coloring, the two of them, the younger one wielding a crayon as well as any artist while the older woman just focused her enjoyment on that of the little girl's.

He'd kept Marlene under other people's care before, certain ones of note, and that aspect didn't bother him; he knew that she would be safe, and have people to care for her. But he hoped that she still loved him… through all of it, even though he couldn't always be there for her. Maybe those times he was there was enough, and every time he told her that he loved her. She told him that often. _"I love you, Daddy…"_

_So why the insecurities, Wallace?_

He wished her real father could see her now—a girl still warm and innocent, untainted, no matter what she'd witnessed. His baby. He smiled sadly at the two as they laughed, and then left. He'd work to keep her happy. For as long as she'd let him and probably for long after, and not a damn thing would get in his way.

He stepped away from the door to return to the living room.

No… there was another baby he was worried about, one who was miles away. She was tough, for sure, but he didn't want her to do anything stupid. He wanted to trust her in that sense. At least she was prepared to move on from Cloud Strife. That, he believed, what the smartest decision she'd made of late.

-

They sat in the little girl's room, coloring in one of her many books with a giant box of crayons.

Dana was having fun giving human characters blue skin and green hair, with strange designs on their faces to boot.

She was pretty sure that the little one disapproved of her artistic liberties, but instead of telling Dana so, Marlene colored her characters perfectly, just as they looked in her favorite movies. That, and she added several familiar characters in the background—one with spiky blonde hair, a brunette, a raven-haired man, a large, dark-skinned man, and many others, thus proving her coloring and artistic talent far better than Dana's. She even stayed in the lines better than Dana.

But Dana was used to this by now. Sucky artistic skills ran in her family, after all. She sighed and sent hazel eyes to the "jungle green" crayon in her hand. Enough coloring—she was better at gardening anyway. Maybe she'd water Tifa's plants while she was gone… in fact.

Tifa… She wondered, then, if the woman would be traveling to Mideel at some point during her journey. She had an ex-boyfriend who lived there, but he'd changed his agenda to become a city boy. Better job, with a crisp black pin-striped suit and silk tie. A new pair of keys to go with a sleek, shiny car. And she was a country girl at heart.

She turned the crayon in her hand as she went into a brief daze, interrupted by Marlene's next comment.

"Hmm… I have school tomorrow."

She set the crayon down in the box and looked up at her.

"Are you excited?" she asked, mildly curious. School was never a good thing, unless you had recess, and after that, it was a crap-load of busy work and math skills you'd never get to use. But Marlene didn't have to know about that yet.

She nodded and gave Dana a little smile. "And… tomorrow… we're going on a little field trip."

Her eyebrows flew up at that. "You are?"

"Mhm… We're studying… bugs… and leaves… and stuff."

"Sounds… um… pretty cool." She remembered taking those sorts of field trips too. Looking at bugs and counting their legs. And scraping rocks against paper to see what colors they made. Curious, deviant little boys scraping poor bugs across the paper to see what colors _those_ made… Yeah, definitely scintillating stuff for a little kid.

"Do you want to play dress-up?" Marlene blurted, suddenly lifting up a lacy pink shroud with yellow chocobos dancing across the border.

"Umm…" She tugged a random crayon out of the box and began doodling on one of the pages she colored in Marlene's little coloring book.

The girl frowned at the chestnut-haired woman's hesitation. "Are you afraid?" she asked bluntly, wrapping the shawl around herself and rising to her feet. That was an unsettling sight to see the little girl standing before her like a queen while she sat on the floor.

"Oh, that's not it… I just… er… don't look good in pink… I mean… ah… look at my skin tone," she added evasively. Combing the hair from Marlene's face, she added, "But… you would probably look pretty in it. Peaches and cream."

"You wouldn't play it with me last time either." Her lower lip jutted out at the injustice of it all.

"You would look good in pink," she added in a meek protest, despite Dana's assessment of herself.

"I don't know about that… I'm not really a pink… person…"

"If we play dress-up… then would you wear the blue one?" She picked up a blue dress with "poofy" sleeves from the dress-up box. A dress clearly not meant to fit a grown-up woman.

Dana mentally compared her body frame to Marlene's. The calculations didn't take long. "Um… I don't think it would fit me."

"Maybe. You never know."

Children. Such imagination. "I can't guarantee that your pretty clothes won't tear at the seams… so… tell ya what… How about I just wear this… pink ribbon over here?" She put the box of crayons aside to reach for the ribbon hanging delicately out of the box from where Marlene found her chocobo shawl.

The girl thought about it for awhile, fingering the tulle sleeve of the dress in her hand.

"Okay, but… you need to give it back… please… It's very important to me," she said finally.

"Of course… I promise I will."

Marlene gave her a big smile and stepped toward her to pluck the ribbon from her fingers and tie it into Dana's hair personally.

-

The next day, Dana walked Marlene home from school in the afternoon. The younger girl slipped her tiny hand in Dana's and swung their arms back and forth. The girl yawned then; it must have been a long day.

"How was your little field trip?" Dana asked. _Any bug smearing activities today?_

"Good," she answered softly, looking somewhat preoccupied. She kicked a stone across the sidewalk and waited a moment before asking her question, thankfully sparing Dana the suspense.

"Dana… when is Cloud coming back?"

This was not the topic that Dana—like nearly everyone else—was extensively knowledgeable about, much less to satisfy the curiosity of a little girl like Marlene Wallace.

"Cloud? Hmm… I'm not so sure." She hoped she sounded earnest.

"He was always with us before," Marlene pointed out. "He always looked… lost…" Her eyes lit up at the chance of realization. "Is he missing something? Is that why he left? Can we help him look for it?"

Thinking at the speed of light… and asking questions that Dana had no answers for.

Dana nodded thoughtfully. This wasn't really her place to answer either, but she could put on a show, even though Marlene probably wouldn't believe her. The girl was smart.

"I think we need to let him look for it on his own… It's a guy thing," she attempted, wincing in uncertainty.

"Oh…" Marlene stared down at her purple light-up sneakers, clearly not believing Dana's bullshit but shy enough not to pursue that issue just yet.

Instead, she asked, "Dana… do you think that he'll come back… when he finds it?"

"I'm not sure, honey…"

"Oh."

After that simple answer, they were both silent for the remainder of the walk home.

-

It turned out that the only thing Dana could cook was a half-decent stir-fry. Quick and dirty, and it pretty much suited Barret, who liked to eat something and go to sleep as soon as possible, preferably on the easy chair in the living room while watching TV.

Barret and Dana were finishing up dinner when the doorbell rang.

He lifted his eyebrows as he glanced toward the kitchen doorway. "Expectin' someone?"

"Hmm… Nope… Maybe it's one of Marlene's classmates or something…" She rose to her feet and set down her napkin before heading toward the door.

She peeked out the window first, noting a little girl with dark brown pigtails standing on the doorstep. With a little smile, she pulled the door open and looked down expectantly.

"Well, hello… How may I help you?"

"Um… hi…" She shuffled her feet in place. "Is Tifa home?"

"Ah… I'm sorry, but she isn't… Do you have a message for her?"

"Well… I… wanted to know if she was giving piano lessons… I heard her playing… a few days ago…"

"Oh, I see… She's quite talented, isn't she?" Tifa must have left the windows open one day while she played…

"But I'm sorry," she repeated. "She's not home and I'm not exactly sure when she's coming back… Next time I talk to her, I'll let her know…"

The little girl frowned, her head tilted to a side as she scrutinized Dana from head to toe.

"I didn't know Tifa had a sister," she remarked curiously.

Dana smiled a little. "Oh, no… I'm just a… friend... taking care of things for her."

"Oh… Okay… um… When she comes back… can you tell her the girl in the house three doors down wants a lesson? Please," she added as an afterthought, her eyes rounded in anticipation.

"Of course… I'm sure she'd be delighted to hear about you."

She smiled brightly. "Thanks…" Then she backed up, and in her excitement, nearly tripped on the stairs before she turned and ran down the sidewalk. She skipped toward the town square, enthusing about her partial success to a friend who played on the closest park bench.

Dana watched her go for a minute before closing the door, and then returned to the kitchen to slip down into her chair across from Barret.

Halfway through chewing, he lifted his eyes to hers and shrugged. "Who was that?"

Dana sighed as she tugged down her shirt in the back self-consciously. "Hmm… some girl who wants Tifa to give her piano lessons…"

Barret swallowed and nodded in acknowledgement. "Probably that Cathy girl. She stopped by before… guess it's expensive to take lessons elsewhere. She must know Tifa would offer a good price," he added with a half-smile. "Hell, she'd do it for free…"

"I bet she would."

They both fell silent then, and Dana mixed around the remaining food in her plate, suddenly not so hungry anymore.

Several minutes later, and the quiet was making her feel a tad uneasy. She imagined that she and Barret would have plenty of those as the days went on, until Tifa came back home to make everything right again. Maybe the girl was some kind of miracle worker. She could kick ass with one hand and mix cookie batter with the other…

Dana lifted her eyes to see Barret leaning over the table with his chin in his hand and his massive dark fist clenched atop the tablecloth. He looked down at his plate disinterestedly, his mind noticeably somewhere else.

She was worried that maybe… he wasn't happy with how she took care of his daughter, which was understandable. She didn't claim to be much of a nanny.

"Barret, if you're worried about Marlene—"

He flitted his deep brown eyes to hers, and then shifted his attention away to consider the out-of-place pink ribbon in Dana's light brown hair. A deep frown creased down the center of his forehead and he shook his head to interrupt her.

"It ain't Marlene," he said brusquely, reaching across the table to help himself to another drink. "It's Tifa… I'm worried about Tifa…"

"She's smart… She'll watch out for weird—"

"No, I don't mean—" Barret sighed heavily. "Her heart broke once, Dana." Realization flitted across her face then. "Now she's goin' after someone who might jus'…" He shook his head once more and took a drink before continuing in a softer tone. "…do the same damn thing to her…"

"It won't be the same," she remarked. And she believed that one-hundred percent.

"How can you be sure 'bout that?" His incredulous eyes followed her when she carried her empty plate to the sink; he twisted around in his chair to keep her in his sights.

"Well… I'm worried too, you know," she pointed out evasively.

"Then why do you say that?"

"I'm just trying to be optimistic," she said matter-of-factly.

"Optimistic… Huh… How about… Pissed-at-the-world. Ever try that mindset?"

"I did… and it didn't get me very far."

"Yeah? How do you figure?"

"Well, I lived in the Midgar slums for awhile, with my sister and aunt… Not a pleasant life… and… my sister had a job she wasn't too proud of…"

"Uh-_huh_… I'm afraid to ask what the job was…"

"Hmm… You won't like it."

"Yeah, I don' like a lot of things." His eyes rounded deliberately, urging her to get to the point.

"She was a stripper."

"…I see."

"Respectable pay, they took good care of her… and… no, my sister never taught Marlene or Tifa any of her tricks."

"That's… ah… good to know," he said absently, frowning in discomfort at the new so-called "facts" she gave him. He didn't seem too assured by her guarantee.

Her eyes twinkled but she took a moment to hide her amusement, but Barret wasn't watching at the time anyway. He seemed to be mulling over the idea as though it would ruin his daughter.

"I'm kidding, Barret," she said, deadpan. "I'm just messin' with you… She was a waitress."

His eyes flared but he was grinning while he shook a scolding finger at her. "Girl, you got no right to be… messin' with an ol' man like me."

"I'll consider it my right, since nobody else messes with you… and for a good reason."

"I'll let it slide but… shit." He pushed back his chair and went to throw out his trash, shaking his head and smiling wryly at his gullibility.

His smile faded when he turned to face her.

"And what about you?"

"Me?" She snorted. "I cleaned up hotel rooms and picked up trash in the streets. I didn't have the legs for stripping…"

She drifted off to look down at her watch before lifting her eyes to his again. He was regarding her with a strange mixture of wariness and amusement.

"Anyway," she went on, "don't worry about Tifa… It'll all be fine…"

"Sure, you say that now… She'll be back home, cryin' her eyes out… and it'll probably be rainin'… and…"

"Yeah, thinking of it that way really puts things into perspective," she said trenchantly. "Give the girl a break."

"Yeah, yeah… Tell me the same story when you have a child to take care of."

She grimaced a little. Not every little kid was as sweet as Marlene… or Tifa for that matter. Furthermore, there was the matter that there weren't too many decent men around here. Most of them were all old… around Nibelheim. No sir. Dana didn't think she'd be breeding anytime soon.

But right now, she had business to take care of, and not much time to do it.

"Hey, I need to stop by a neighbor's place. I'll be back soon…"

"Alright, but don' be out for too long… Marlene will miss ya."

"She has you," she thought to point out.

"…Yeah… she does."

She mindlessly lifted her hand to smooth her hair, fingers curling in the pink ribbon that held her hair back in a loose ponytail. She needed to remember to give that back to Marlene later.

Frowning, she thought aloud, "I don't really… fit in… here… do I?"

Damn her big mouth.

Barret was just leaving, with one foot on the stair before he paused and turned his head to narrow his eyes at her.

"What did you say?" he demanded, voice booming.

Once before, Barret lashed out at her for not paying attention when Marlene fell and hurt herself. Crying at her little scraped knee… but that was back when they'd barely known each other.

For a minute, Dana was stunned, and meeting his burning eyes only prolonged her silence.

His eyes softened then, becoming merely curious rather than dimly threatening; he must have determined how fierce his expression truly was by looking her in the eye.

That little change prompted her to speak, albeit not so confidently.

"…I… Forget it… I didn't say anything."

She picked up her purse and slipped on her shoes. Turning toward the door, she rummaged through her bag, making sure she had enough gil. She forgot to buy her neighbor a get-well-soon card, not to mention a small bouquet of flowers, so she'd just have to make a stop on the way—

"Dana…" His voice softened too, and he brought his foot back down to the floor, turning toward her.

She paused in the doorway, and stepped around halfway to look at him expectantly, her eyes not quite meeting his.

He lifted his eyebrows. "You belong here. At least until you decide to live somewhere else."

"You think so?"

"Shit, yeah," he affirmed with a brief nod. "And that's what Tifa would think if she were here. Girl, she'd be pissed if she knew you asked that… but I won't tell…"

She flashed him a smile, brave enough to meet his eyes now. "Thank you."

He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.

"Take care now," he bade her.

"You too."

She couldn't help but smile to herself as she went on her way.


	7. Chapter 7

Just a Few Reminders – 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy 7, but the original story and other characters are mine. Capisce?_

_Author's Note: I wanted to tell you guys I'm sorry for my dumbass self regarding the rating system on the site. I guess I just assume that the "F word" qualifies for M, but I've seen it in some K and T rated fics, so I don't know what to tell ya. If you want my honest opinion, I think this story is more like… "PG-13." But things might change. 'Nough about that._

_Sorry for the delay… I've been trying to draw and work on several stories at once. Doesn't always work. (Roy Mustang won, hands down). So here come some Highwind shenanigans. Please read and review._

"The hell are ya puttin' that seven in for, woman?" Cid demanded, yanking the pencil out of his wife's grip to erase the offending number from the grid.

Shera put her hands on her hips defiantly, openly glaring into his fierce blue eyes. "I have a name, you know," she said firmly, monitoring the volume of her voice so as not to disturb the sleeping child in the other room. "I thought you knew it by now…"

She jabbed a finger at the sheet. "And if you put a seven _here_, then you can pencil in a six right _there_," she explained, sliding her finger over. "It's simple."

Cid narrowed his eyes incomprehensively. "No, that's not the way I—"

"This is the last time I help you with your stupid puzzles, Cid Highwind."

"Aww, come on, Sher'. Don't be like that." He looked so much like a little boy then, she thought, with his messy blonde hair almost long enough to fall into his eyes. But alas, that was probably part of his scheme, whatever that may be.

She sighed heavily and rose to her feet, pulling off her glasses to wipe them on her shirt. "I'm going to make myself some coffee," she muttered, pushing the glasses back onto her nose as she continued to the kitchen. "And I guess I'll make you some tea." _It's what I live for, after all._

"I fucking hate tea," Cid replied spitefully, leaning back on the couch to fold his arms over his chest, his uninterested eyes on the puzzle game in front of him.

"You don't hate tea," she replied, lifting up the tea kettle to estimate the amount of water inside. "You love it."

And she knew that because he had at least a cup of it every day. It was a simple thing for a man to enjoy his tea, and endearing, and it was probably one thing that kept him alive after all those years of smoking cigarettes. And of course… she'd taken good care of him then. She couldn't imagine leaving him to his own devices… especially not now.

"I'm addicted to it. It smells good, and it tastes like shit. Just like coffee… Gross shit," he remarked. "I can't believe you like it."

She rolled her eyes as she brought down a mug and a teacup from the cupboard. "I don't really like it either. I just need it, believe me."

"…Not as much as I need… you."

She snorted. "Oh please," she spat out, even though she helplessly smiled to herself at his poor attempt to make amends.

And then he was there, his arms coming around her waist from behind, and he turned his lips toward her ear. "You could put that lab coat on again," he murmured suggestively.

"Oh, you're terrible." She slapped at his wandering hands and stepped out of the way to retrieve a teabag, only to find that they were out of his favorite kind.

"Cid… You'll have to go with… lemon tea."

"Lemon? Fuck that… I want my cinnamon tea."

"Well, I don't have any," she pointed out, and held up the remaining teabags so he could see.

"You're shitting me."

"I shit you not… Maybe you should go out and buy some." _So I can get some things done around here without you supervising me all the time._

"Shera," he gasped. "You never swear."

"I just did, Highwind. Whatcha gonna do about it?" She used to be certain that she wouldn't resort to cheekiness around this man, but after putting up with him all those years… forget about it.

"I'm incredibly aroused, actually," he answered, "so I could think of one or two things…"

She sighed heavily with an air of exasperation. "Do you ever give up?" she dramatically asked, her back to him as she smiled with hidden pleasure.

"I'm just getting' started, Sher'. How's come you never wanna have fun anymore? It's that damn Highwind spawn of mine, isn't it?" he accused. "He's makin' you old."

She poured out his lemon tea, pretending to ignore that her husband just called her 'old' even though her smile faded slightly.

"Yes, Cid, it's only your son's fault," she murmured flatly. "That's just why my hair has gone gray…"

"It's actually a silvery golden brown… And sometimes… in the light… it looks like… copper or maybe… sunlight," he replied huskily.

"…Have you been… indulging in liquor or other such substances, Cid Highwind?" she demanded, holding out his cup of tea. "Here I thought you were a changed man… and yet here you are, a bad influence on my son. You know, _old man_, the other day I heard him say shi—"

There was a knock at the door, and for a moment, they just looked at each other blankly, Cid mindlessly taking the cup away from her.

He was about to speak when Cory started crying, unfortunately awake from his short-lived nap.

"Little Captain," Shera said simply, backing out of the kitchen.

"Door," he replied gruffly.

As she headed down the hall, he broke into a smile and called after her, "Maybe they're coming to take him away."

"Maybe someone's coming to take both of you away," she replied smartly over her shoulder just before reaching her son's bedroom. "Then I'd get you both off my hands."

-

Tifa slipped a hand through her hair as she waited for someone to answer the door. With any luck, Shera would be home at the very least. She'd heard a child crying from within.

She lifted her head sharply when the door swung open wide, only to find Cid Highwind there, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he eyed the woman up and down.

Tifa offered him a smile of greeting and parted her lips to speak, but he poked a finger at her shoulder and condemned, "What the hell were you thinkin', comin' here without calling first? We coulda been dead!"

"Stop pestering her, Cid," Shera scolded, coming into the kitchen with a dazed child in her arms.

_Ah, a boy,_ Tifa thought with some embarrassment. _I should've known they'd have a little Cid look-alike._

Smiling her way, the woman exchanged her tone for a gentler one. "Honey, come in and sit down. You look exhausted…"

"Thank you, Shera… It's good to see you again…"

As Tifa stepped past him, she noticed Cid's eyes still vaguely suspicious, backlit with amusement.

Once again, she noted the adorable little boy with bright blue eyes as Shera gently brought him to the floor to let him walk on his own. Still drowsy from his nap, he took a fistful of his mother's pant-leg and rested his head against it, his thumb coming to rest in his mouth.

"And _this_ is a little boy we found in the dumpster," Cid began, gesturing toward the child in Shera's arms. "Felt sorry for the little guy and—"

"Cid Highwind," his wife said sternly, "our child is going to have some kind of complex."

"Well, she's right, I suppose… This is Cory Highwind. I love 'im…"

"He's a beautiful little boy," Tifa said, giving the child a sweet smile. His eyes looked everywhere but her for a moment.

"Hi," she greeted enthusiastically once she had his attention. "I'm Tifa."

"Teefie?" Cory attempted.

"Ti…fa," she said again, slower.

"Teef?"

"Ah hell. It's close enough. He's probably just fuckin' with yer head now anyway," he muttered. "Smarter than he looks. But he only says curse words around me."

"Can't imagine why," his wife quipped.

He dismissed that comment and directed his attention to his guest once again.

"Say, Lockheart… Didja bring us anything?" he asked, a lopsided grin on his lips.

"I might have packed some goodies… for Shera."

"You didn't get me any ciggies?" He pointedly glanced at Shera with a knowing smile.

"Why, no. I wouldn't ever encourage you to—"

"Mr. Highwind quit," Shera explained proudly.

"Really?!" Tifa exclaimed. _Did hell freeze over?_

"Well yeah," Cid returned, and folded his arms over his chest. "For marriage sacrifices… and all that shit…"

"Next thing you know… he'll name his airship after me," his wife murmured, shaking her head in disbelief.

He glanced back at Tifa and smirked before drawing closer for a conspiratorial wink. "And I already named the ship after her, since her birthday's coming up…"

"So, about these aforementioned goodies," he added, loudly enough for his wife to hear.

"Well… I have something for Cory… I wasn't sure what to get him so… ah… well, here." She dug into her bag and brought out the plush toy mountain chocobo for Cory and set it on the table.

"You shouldn't have done that, Lockheart," Cid groaned, and looked down as the boy ran across the floor.

Tifa happily presented the toy to the boy. Cory and his new toy swiftly became new friends, and he bolted across the kitchen to the living room to introduce his new toy to the other stuffed animals in his collection.

"Now he's full o' piss an' vinegar, and he's never going to bed again," Cid growled. "Thanks a lot."

"I bet you were a pain in the butt when you were a kid too, Mr. Highwind," Shera pointed out, leaving the kitchen to accompany her child.

"Yeah, well—" He cut himself off and shrugged, turning in his seat to face Tifa. "She's right," he said hopelessly. "I was a pain in the ass."

Shera might have felt victorious after his admitting it, but she was fairly occupied with Cory Highwind and his stuffed animals, namely the one that Tifa just bought for him.

"Choco wants to go in the bath!" he enthused.

Shera peered over her glasses to read the washing instructions, if any, on the stuffed animal's tag. "Hmmm… I don't think that Choco would like the water, Little Captain," she said gently. "He's not a river chocobo…"

"But I want him to—"

"So… I wanna see what else is in yer bag," Cid prompted again, scratching the bit of stubble on his chin.

"Of course," Tifa said with a smile, and dug into her bag. "Since you asked me so nicely."

"Uh-huh. Hopefully it's a new toaster because… Shera and I need a new one… Badly…"

"Is that so?"

"I couldn't fix it this time. We're going to buy one of those badass looking ones, with all the unnecessary buttons and shit. It'll be fun to play with… and then… a new grill." His eyes lit up at the prospect. "Or maybe… a new stereo…" He wiggled his eyebrows at Shera, who threw up her hands in despair at the financial implications of it all.

Tifa pulled out a dark green bag and slid it across the table toward him. "I recall that Shera liked these…"

"Hmm… Think she'd be pissed if I opened them?" After a time the length of a heartbeat, he muttered, "Ah, who am I kidding?"

He tore open the bag without further delay and smiled at the sight through the ripped paper.

He frowned at the green-colored packaging, and Tifa noticed.

"That's the kind she likes, right?"

"Yeah… Dried fruit candies from Nibelheim… The best brand too. Not like the silly ass Nibel Nibbles brand… or the cheap shit that you get over here… But she won't get any…" He ripped open the candy bag and popped one into his mouth to illustrate his point.

"And… I didn't forget a gift for you, Mr. Highwind," she said pointedly, worriedly eyeing the bag in his hand and hoping that there'd be enough candy left for his wife by the time he was done.

"Well, hell… I want to see."

She drew out another package for him and slid it across the table. He opened it enthusiastically, only to give a Cheshire cat grin at the contents. Different herbal teas, particularly cinnamon and green, which were his favorite, if Tifa remembered correctly.

"I'm transparent, aren't I?" he confessed with a mouthful of candy. He winked at her and whispered, "How'd you know?"

"How, indeed," she murmured, a gentle smile gracing her lips. If something so simple could make him happy, she was glad to oblige.

After that, they talked for a time about general things, exchanging 'how are yous' and 'what's new with yous,' and Tifa still found it hard to believe that the Captain had stopped smoking cigarettes.

For a time, they were both silent, and they both watched the child playing in the other room before he spoke up again.

"So, Tif… what else brings you here… besides to catch up and spoil us with gifts?"

She took a deep breath and clasped her hands on the table, her eyes on the cup of tea that hadn't been touched on the far end of the table. "Well… I'm going to see Vincent…"

"Valentine? You know where he is?"

"Well… No," she answered hesitantly, and lifted her eyes to his beseechingly. "Do you?"

"Vincent… well—" He rose to his feet and went to lean back against the counter, drawing out a toothpick from his pocket to chew on, probably to make up for the lack of cigarettes at his disposal.

"He's a shit peddler, in my opinion. The guy acts all cold but then he comes to visit us. But he's really polite, for the most part. Didn't even bitch when I showed him all my new gadgets. And Shera said he was holding Cory too. I mean, what the hell is that all about? He stayed here for a bit and then he left… someone in town told us that his phantom ass went up north…"

Cid's wife hurried to scold him, rising to her feet to rejoin the two in the kitchen. "That's not very nice—"

"I'm just tellin' her how it is, Shera," he defended himself, eyeing Cory as the boy reached over to put together his large building blocks, only for 'Choco' to demolish them.

It was difficult for Tifa to picture Vincent holding a child, but a smile came across Tifa's lips at the inevitable image of the young boy grabbing hold of Vincent's hair with those tiny, curious fingers and giving a sharp downward tug. What would the dark gunslinger do then? Maybe he'd glare and... _'Release my hair at once… or suffer the consequences.'_ No, he wouldn't do that… He'd just silently, carefully remove those miniature fingers from his hair without thinking about it. She was sure that he would be gentle, because she'd seen him with Marlene, and that girl didn't suffer any ill effects from his company, as far as Tifa knew.

"Up north," Tifa echoed thoughtfully. "Do you mean overseas?"

"Well… yeah. There's nothing much else north of us besides that. I had to wear protective shit last time I went so _they_ wouldn't shrink…"

_They—?_

…_Never mind._

"Did that 'someone' say… which place exactly?"

"Uh… couldn't tell ya. Valentine probably didn't tell them either," he pointed out.

"…I suppose you're right," she said sadly.

"Would you like some help getting there?" he asked.

"Well… if you wouldn't mind, I'd be very grateful…"

"I'll get you there," he said with a grin, "with the airship… but when you get to those mountains… you might be better off with Lloyd. I'm short on time. Busy work schedule, you know."

"…Lloyd?" she murmured blandly, picturing a tall lanky man with a wrench in baggy clothes and a long beard, his shirt covered with engine grease.

"That's our mountain chocobo," Shera whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Cid demanded through his teeth, mangling the toothpick in his mouth. "Do you have something against Lloyd?" The glint in his eye told Shera that she'd better not, but the crinkles around his eyes gave away another imminent smile.

Tifa lifted an eyebrow at the display, both curious about Lloyd and even more curious about her hosts' behavior. Things apparently changed around here, big time.

"Do we have to go over this again?" Shera returned, her eyes rolling heavenward.

"Well, fine," Cid muttered, waving his hand in the air in dismissal of her lack of enthusiasm. "Anyway… Lloyd, that's a _fine_ chocobo right there… And I see that look in your eyes, Teef. I don't mean it in _that_ way. You know… _bestiality_ type of shit." He crinkled his forehead, his eyes intense with the disgraceful thought.

"I wasn't thinking _that_," Tifa muttered, grimacing at his antics.

"Get on with it, Captain," Shera advised, pointedly turning her head toward her son.

"So yeah… Lloyd… He's got great stamina for mountains and things, so he'll take you where you need to go. You'll just need his favorite greens and you'll be all set… I recommend going to the places we visited first," he added after a moment. "You know… the familiar ones. Then you can ask around and see if anybody's seen the guy. But… I don't want you to get lost."

"You make it sound so simple," Tifa murmured softly. "I don't know if I can—"

"Ah, shit… Every fuckin' time somebody comes to visit us—"

"Cid," Tifa began, sensing an eruption.

"—they think we'll solve their problems…"

"Cid," Tifa repeated with a sigh.

"—an' when we _do_, they just forget about us a month later—"

"Cid, will you—"

"—an' we never see them again. It's a goddamn conspiracy—"

"Will you shut up and listen to me, please?" Tifa interrupted again, her eyes bright with amusement to belie the irritation in her words.

"Please," Shera reinforced Tifa's plea, her hand resting on his sleeve. "Your blood pressure, honey."

"Fine, fine... Shit... Don't hurt me," he muttered, raking a hand through his blonde and silver streaked hair.

Tifa smiled gently. "Thank you," she said gratefully. "Now… Cid… I appreciate everything you've done for me, and I plan to return to you… as soon as I can… I'm lucky to have so many friends," she murmured sincerely. "I don't know what I would do without them… and I won't forget you, Cid… ever." She gazed up at him with soft eyes, hoping he would see the truth there. Unfortunately, her sentiments weren't received in the way she expected.

"It was _you_!" Cid shouted. "You're the one who taught my wife that 'lost puppy' look…No wonder she caught me…"

"Are you listening to what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, yeah. I hear ya," Cid muttered in an almost drunken drawl, before speaking with more deliberate inflection. "But my point is that you need more goddamn confidence in yourself, and you need to have faith that I know what the hell I'm talking about. I know my shit. Got it?"

"I think I got it," Tifa answered softly, shaking her head in wonder at his forceful words.

"Good."

After a minute, he narrowed his eyes skeptically, and pointed a finger at her in accusation, as was his wont to do. "You walked all the way here, didn't ya? Could've been easier on yourself, y'know… by driving a fuckin' car instead of walking. Bet you're tired as hell now, aren't ya? Stupid… _And_ you could've flown," he added belatedly.

"Well, we don't have too many pilots in Nibelheim," she reasoned.

"You could've saved yourself some fuckin' time if you called me," he snapped.

"Ah… it would've been kind of… short-notice—"

"He just wants an excuse to fly," his wife remarked, her expression a mixture of adoration and lenience for him.

"Anyway, Mr. Highwind," Shera went on sternly, "it would be an adventure to drive through the mountains."

Cid nodded. "Yeah, but… you don't like it up there."

"It's too cold."

"This from the girl who wanted her honeymoon in Icicle," Cid mumbled.

"You're the one who wanted to go to Icicle," Shera replied, defiantly putting her hands on her hips. "I wanted to see the resort in Costa del Sol…"

"Well… whatever…"

It was obvious who won most of the arguments around here, Tifa observed with a triumphant smile, and then Cid returned his full attention to her face, startling her to look up again at the intent look in his eye as well as his stern words.

"Sure you don't want help in Icicle? If you wait a few days, I could stay there with ya… Cold as hell up there, in the mountains. I guess I don't have to tell you that, Miss Badass Explorer of Mt. Nibel. But make sure you're warm enough."

"I'll be careful, Cid… Thanks."

"Anyway, the plane ain't ready today, so you're definitely stuck with us for at least a night. Forget the Inn. It changed to grubby hands. Hope you brought earplugs."

She shook her head. "Left them at home," she answered, and gave him a slow smile with a lift of her chin. "It's good to see you again, Cid Highwind."

"Right back atcha, Lockheart." He brought an arm around her and held her close, lowering his eyes to glare at the top of her dark head.

"Now listen… Worry about Vincent and his cheerful self later. Get some rest. Take the couch—it's a damn comfy couch. Don't let the wrench on the pillow confuse ya."

"Thank you, Cid… It's very kind of you to let me stay here."

"And if Cory comes in here, tryin' to hit on ya, you make sure you show him a good time," he teased.

"Cid Highwind," Shera scolded, "You're turning into a creepy old man. Leave the poor woman alone."

Her Captain just smirked, one eye squinting as he gazed at her with that blend of mischief and adoration he'd somehow mastered while Tifa wasn't watching.

_A/N: Yes, Shera does actually leave her house on occasion… but not today. :D_

_And Yes, Cid drinks something other than tea… He probably drank that something before this chapter, because suddenly he was all hot and bothered for his wife. Shit happens._

_And… Vincent...If we didn't know that he was at the Northern Continent, then Tifa would be traveling around the world for all eternity. And she'd be old by then…But yeah… He'll chase her at some point, I promise. _

_Write a review. Do it for the pandas._


	8. Chapter 8

Just a Few Reminders – Chapter 8

Disclaimer: The game belongs to Square-Enix, not I. However, original characters and the story are mine. Got that?

Author's Note: Thanks for your patience, and also thanks to those who have been reviewing. I think I forgot some people when I sent out my thank-you's before… so… THANK YOU. (Must've been the pandas). Hate to break it to you people, but there's another OC in here, and this chapter is also… a necessary evil. You shall see why. And if you've read "Perhaps," you'll know who the hell Maria is… Some VT soon anyway, so hang in there awhile longer.

-

He didn't really belong here. He was dreaming. He had to be.

_She_ was here, close enough to touch and yet… just out of his reach.

He tried to call her name, to get her attention, to bring her back to him, but his voice came out cracked and quiet, softer than a whisper. Of course she couldn't hear him.

He mouthed to her in a silent plea: "Don't go… Please, don't go…"

"_I'm here…"_

She was behind him, in front of him, inside him, and all around him—

…_her cool hands on his face…_

He woke with a start, his heart thumping as he tried to recover his breath.

"_I'm here."_

"Aeris?" he murmured, his voice working surprisingly well now that he couldn't see her…

He closed his eyes again because he could still feel her nearby. He didn't want to scare her away…

_Where are you…?_

She murmured his name…

She was sleeping in his arms… Her nightshirt was so soft against his fingers… her arm felt so smooth… and her hair smelled so _good_… The shampoo she used… a gentle spray of fresh citrus...

…Citrus?

…_Not like flowers… Not Aeris…_

His eyelashes drifted apart, and at once everything sank in when he saw the darkened mass of red hair against his nose. Why was it that his dreams always felt so real? Maybe it was because he was usually daydreaming when he was awake…

He frowned slightly at this tendency, especially because of the position it left him in now. He'd hugged Maria at some point in the middle of the night and kept her there in his arms… and now… it just didn't feel right. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

He carefully moved away from her, trying not to disturb her sleep, and she murmured nonsensically, drawing the blanket higher over her shoulders at the intrusion of cold air.

Without a sound, he slipped away and stepped across the wooden floors on bare feet.

It was still dark, but he had no difficulty navigating through the house. In the living room, he found his jacket and blindly slid his hand into the right pocket until he had his prize captured between thumb and forefinger.

_Hers._

He was calm, now that he had the pink ribbon in his hand, a physical reminder to let him know that she was indeed there, a silent, gentle presence in the dark.

He abandoned his jacket and brought himself to the couch, slumping back against the cushions so he could stare into the darkness, rubbing the satiny material between thumb and forefinger. By now, his eyes had adjusted, and he could distinguish shadows on the wall. Shadows cast from trees outside with trembling branches. It was still windy out, and it would probably rain later in the morning.

Something soft jumped into his lap, and he stiffened until he realized just what it was.

The cat he'd discovered in the gardens of Kalm's park. Or perhaps she'd discovered him, brushing around his ankles and stepping across his old boots when he paused in the middle of the sidewalk, lost in thought as he often was.

Green eyes and a smooth light brown and gold coat… No wonder he kept her. Moreover, the tabby cat never really had a home before he found her, so Cloud brought her home to Maria.

He mindlessly ran his fingers across the soft fur and murmured, "Couldn't sleep either, huh?" He kept his voice quiet, so as not to disturb the peaceful creature.

_She would've liked you, cat… And you probably would have liked to sleep against her. She was always so warm…_

The cat purred contentedly, most likely in response to his attentions and not to his question.

He smiled wryly. "Did you see her around here?" he asked, his voice still husky with sleep. The cat, of course, gave no reply. Pretty inane, talking to the cat in the first place.

He silently turned his attention toward the window as he stroked the feline in his lap.

He knew that he wasn't in love with Maria, that he was living a lie, all this time. A cliché thought, maybe, but rather than pretending not to notice the flaw, he decided to do something about it. He guessed that counted for something. After all… he wasn't going to live forever. Maybe that fact was a good thing, when he digested it fully…

And Maria… It wasn't worth it for either of them if he stayed, especially for her. He was gone most of the time anyway, both physically and mentally.

So that was it. He would leave before it got bad. Tomorrow, he would talk to her, and then… he could be free again, content with his dreams…

_Tifa_, a voice told him. _You forgot about Tifa_.

Gods, Tifa… A steady friend, despite everything. He wished he could see her now, and she hadn't called him since the day he left for Kalm… He didn't want her to think that he didn't care… but he didn't think he could make her understand…

What was that girl up to, anyway? Probably working her butt off in whatever she was doing, that was for sure. Kicking ass and taking names, taking care of people of all ages around her, with enough time left over to bake a delicious chocolate cake or a holiday pie. Yes, that was… Tifa… How she managed all that, he would never know. He knew that Marlene was part of it… He also knew that living in the slums had made her tough.

And… he was… digressing. He needed to see her. To make sure she was okay, even though he knew she would be. And maybe, finally, talk to her too. She deserved that after all those years. He knew she would always be there for him if he needed her.

He thought over what he might say to Tifa for a time…But in the middle of his contemplation, he conjured some fascinating imagery about one flower girl in a pink dress… and what she might say if she were here… _But if she were here, I wouldn't be in this house…_ And those thoughts stayed with him as he helplessly dozed off…

…Soon, golden light seeped through the window as his head slanted back against the cushions, and the cat, already asleep, was curled up against his leg where his fingers still loosely held the sinuous, glossy ribbon.

-

He missed her.

For her, he wore blue. She'd once told him that the color went with his eyes, and he remembered everything about that day because of it. "Cornflower blue," she'd commented, "but don't tell anyone I said that."

He'd asked around, and compiled a crumpled list of phone numbers in his pocket. From Mideel to Junon. All the way to Nibelheim. And now he was here.

He'd previously considered the place cursed, yet it was so lively and bright with people crowding the streets now that he couldn't believe it…

He scanned the signs on each building, until his eyes came on the curved script of the flower shop sign. Beneath his coat, he wrapped impossibly unsteady fingers around the smooth pendant of the cord that hung from his neck.

Aidan Thompson was here for Dana Campbell, whether she liked it or not. While his shaky hands might not match his resolve, he made a note to work on that, for her.

_I'll go,_ he told himself. _If she still works there, I should say hi._

Obsessive-compulsively counting steps, he walked across the street toward the flower shop, dodging oblivious pedestrians and a woman hauling serious ass on her bicycle.

He pushed open the heavy door, making the doorbell sound, and then stepped inside, his weight causing the old wooden planks underneath him to creak in complaint.

His hands in his pockets, he scanned the fragrant space for a minute before moving to the front desk. A young woman stood there, on the phone with a customer, her high ponytail bobbing as she nodded and furiously typed at her small computer.

He approached at a leisurely place, willing to let the woman take her time even though he was pretty damn anxious. Bowing his head, he paused by the counter to regard the wooded floors, making mental patterns as he waited.

And then an idea came to him.

_Aidan, you're a moron. _

Here he was in a flower shop, a romantic setting by nature, and yet he hadn't even thought to purchase his love a flower.

Annoyed at himself, he made a swift beeline to the rows of flowers. Instantly, he decided to forego the traditional roses, his hand instinctively wrapping around the pendant at his throat. Then he went for deep blue cornflowers and star-shaped forget-me-nots instead. Once he had the bouquet he wanted, he turned back to the front counter to wait for the woman to finish her phone call.

Soon enough, he had her full attention, he read her nametag, "Sandra," and politely addressed her by name.

"I'm… uh… Excuse me. I'm looking for an old friend of mine… I believe she works here… Her name's Dana Campbell." Hopefully, she would excuse his awkward speech and wavering voice.

She drew her eyebrows together and gave him a cursory inspection behind the desk. "You wouldn't happen to be that ex of hers… would you?"

"…Ah… which… ex… would that be?"

"Hmm… Never mind, you couldn't be him," she said dismissively. "Will's a belligerent jerk with huge guns. He was pretty hot though… if you didn't factor in the asshole part of his personality…"

Aidan blinked and remained silent, waiting for the words he needed to hear.

"So anyway, she's not working today, sir, but she's staying with Tifa."

"Where does this Tifa live?"

She seemed surprised. "You don't know Teef?" She shrugged and then tore off a piece of note paper, scribbling down a combination of numbers and letters. "Here's her address…" She slid the paper toward him, and he gathered it into his fingers for a cursory glance. "She's across the street and down a few houses. Not too far, really… Oh… and I wouldn't try anything stupid if I were you."

His startled gaze shot up to meet hers. "…Huh? Why's that?"

She smirked. "You'll see."

_Crap, maybe I really should have stayed home. _"Uh… o… kay… Thanks for your help." He lazily turned, ready to walk out as he thought over his new information.

"No problem, honey. You gonna pay for those?" She gestured to the flowers in his hand and lifted her eyebrows expectantly.

"Ah… yes… I guess… I'd better." He blushed and dug into his pocket for the appropriate amount of gil. Once he made his purchase, he stepped out of the shop onto the pavement, and was left in a quandary once again.

_What the hell am I doing here? _

_You love her. You want to tell her that, so you can stop worrying. And then, if she'll take you back, you can go back to work, knowing that there will be someone to come home to. No doubt about it._

"I'll go," he murmured with a single nod.

Flowers in hand, he crossed the street to head toward the row of houses, his eyes scanning addresses as he once again counted his footsteps. And at last, he found the house, just to the right, nestled like a peaceful dove between the trees, and he marched steadily onward, a man on a mission. Determined, resolute—

—To come to an abrupt halt and turn away from the house. In his uncertainty, he nearly caused a collision with another pedestrian, but she immediately changed course and hurried on without a backward glance. In his plight, he failed to apologize, and clenched his jaw as he thought over his situation.

_I won't go. _

He frowned deeply and turned to face the house again, eyes intent on the windows, as if he might see Dana placing a pot of flowers there... and of course she wasn't.

_But I love her,_ he thought once more.

With another nod, he started forward again, only to stop once more with a jolt.

_She doesn't want me or my flowers_, he argued inwardly_. She's around them all day…_

He slowly turned in place again, and growled lowly in frustration. His indecisiveness would be the death of him.

His granny would tell him to stop screwing around and to 'get his ass in gear,' instead of sitting around and waiting for something to happen… if she could remember him, anyway. But that was an issue for another day.

Either he grew another head or he was talking to himself again, because he was getting strange looks from passersby. He wasn't making any progress by simply standing here, and so he made his way to the house once more, this time at a more quickened pace. Once he reached the front doorstep, he sighed in resignation and lifted a half-fisted hand to knock on the door.

-

He was on his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang, and with a little sigh, he started toward the door.

"Barret," Dana hesitantly called down from upstairs, "can you get that? I'm trying to help Marlene with her project."

He made a mental note to talk to Dana about how he wanted to spend more time with Marlene. Even if it meant gluing colorful pieces of construction paper to a Popsicle stick to make magic butterflies.

That aside, he replied, "Yeah, I got it," and went to answer the door. Without looking out the narrow window, he unlatched the door and pulled it open to see a tall young man on the front stoop.

The visitor's eyes widened slightly at the sight of him and he swallowed hard, lifting his shining boot off the ground to plant it behind the other, as if in preparation to flee.

Lowering his lashes, Barret fought against an impending smile and folded his arms. Not a day passed without him seeing someone intimidated by his size and build. He got quite the kick out of it.

He lifted his eyebrows at the young man and spoke, because it seemed that the kid wouldn't be talking without some encouragement.

"So... I'm guessin' you're here for Tifa," he drawled. Two uninformed coworkers had stopped by to see if Tifa was around, so it didn't surprise him that a guy might drop in for a visit. Unfortunately for him, Tifa was absent and had her mind set on… other things.

"Who?" The stranger blinked in confusion. "Er, oh, Tifa… No, I… Excuse me… I'm looking for a girl named Dana… Is she here?"

"Dana, huh? And who are you?" He couldn't help but feel a little bit protective. Who was the asshole in a suit, and just what did he want with her? At any rate, the guy had probably come a long way because Barret couldn't recognize him from anywhere else.

"Aidan… Aidan Thompson… She and I used to… ah… you know…"

"Barret Wallace." His response was curt, mainly because he was interested in Aidan's last comment. He arched his eyebrows. "Used to… what… exactly?"

"Used to… go out… and… you know… go out. Not much else." He shifted in discomfort. "…And… well… I just thought I'd come to see her… Is she here?"

Barret decided that the stammering idiot couldn't have been a bad guy, unless he was a really good actor. But he looked thin enough that Dana could probably take him if he tried anything. Mostly harmless.

"Wha's the password?" he joked, deadpan.

"I… uh…" Aidan hesitated, and glanced around, namely at the crumpled up sheet of paper in his hand and then at the address on the house, probably wondering if he'd made a mistake.

"That's it alright," Barret replied tolerantly, his eyes glittering in his mirth, and then he stepped aside to let Aidan pass. "C'mon in, Mr. Thompson, an' I'll get her."


	9. Chapter 9

Just a Few Reminders - 9

_Disclaimer: All properties of Final Fantasy 7 belong to Square-enix, but the original characters and story are mine. Capisce?_

_A/N: Lowered the rating, after much thought. I've seen the 'F word' on T and K+ stories so I guess it's alright. If you have complaints though, go ahead and bitch to your heart's content. If anything gets more adult-ish, then I'll be sure to up the rating. Take care, compandas._

"So… Lloyd… you're the fattest chocobo I've ever seen," she thought to point out. Cid probably spoiled the thing by overfeeding, when Shera wasn't looking. It was hard to believe that he had a soft spot for… anything, really. But the fact that he married Shera easily refuted that idea. It made her believe that maybe some things were possible like… maybe… one day… Barret would learn to cook for himself. She wouldn't hold her breath.

At Tifa's observation, the chocobo gave a single _wark_ in reply, as he couldn't deny it, and moved on. She knew she would reach Icicle by dusk at this rate, but it wasn't exactly a pleasant trip. Mainly because it was so damn cold.

She couldn't help but imagine Vincent Valentine living in the mountains somewhere far away from everyone else… maybe a little house like the sleepyhead Chocobo Sage had… And yet, Cid had given her a handy map of the continent, and took it upon himself to mark the possible locations of Valentine. He'd gone into the mathematics and coordinates of it all too, but at some point Tifa got lost in his babble. When he finally reverted to a language she could understand, she paid closer attention.

'Well, hell. Icicle Village is only a few miles north, but I need to refuel and get back. Tight schedule, you know. Take good care of yourself, and Lloyd. Don't forget to call when you need me. None of that appearing at my doorway all lonely and tired and shit. Got it?'

_Yeah, Highwind. I got it._

And when she didn't think on the matter about her freezing cold ass, she had no problems guiding Lloyd through the snowy terrain. It helped that she had been the one to calm the chocobos down when she traveled with Cloud and the others. It didn't take much. A gentle voice, a soothing hand. And of course the bird's favorite greens.

The funny thing was that Lloyd didn't seem to like bandersnatches, or any other creature, for that matter, so he made a point to evade them. That was fine by her, except for the part where the frigid wind would burn her face when the bird suddenly bolted in alarm every few minutes.

It was dark when she reached Icicle Village, as she expected. Lloyd was apparently ravenous around that time, protracted _warks_ signifying his discontent. She dismounted to take him by the reins and lead him to the stables, thinking that he should be left to his own devices under another watchful eye so she could be left to hers.

A girl was there, in a long coat and gloves, and although she had a friendly aura, she murmured something in a tongue Tifa couldn't understand. She held a small lantern and hung it up just outside the doorway as she stepped forward to greet her.

Frowning, Tifa went through her list of foreign words that she knew, but she didn't know too many to begin with, so she was stuck.

"Ah… I'm sorry," she said hesitantly, "I don't understand—"

Apparently, the language problem was of no concern to the girl, for she smiled anyway and took the reins from Tifa, leading the chocobo into an empty stall. Then she draped a blanket over him, petting him and crooning in her strange language, and Tifa smiled nervously, digging into her pocket for some gil. But when she drew out the money, the girl closed her hands over hers, shaking her head and frowning, as if it were some kind of taboo to pay for the chocobo's care.

Tifa shook her head in protest and replied, "But… I—"

Gently, the girl pushed her away, and she thanked her, even though she wasn't sure if she could understand the girl's kindness. She gave the chocobo one last look and turned away with a sigh. Hesitantly, she walked through town, thinking that she'd like very much to be spoiled like Lloyd right about now… or at least to have a mug filled to the brim with hot chocolate.

And… what an odd experience that was. She'd traveled the world with Cloud and the others, but anyone they spoke to had a common tongue, no matter the diversity in culture. But recently, she'd been staying close to home, and she'd forgotten what it was like to travel. Maybe one day, she'd take the time to drink it all in, but it seemed that she was always busy in some way or another, unable to enjoy the diversity. On the other hand, she had quite a motley crew of friends, and it occurred to her then that she meant to find one in particular…

That reminded her, she should probably call Cid to let him know that she was okay. Maybe once she found a place to stay for the night, she would. Preferably somewhere out of the cold.

Hurrying now, she stuffed her fingers into her pockets and scrunched up her face comically against the wind as her hair flew wildly about her. Nibelheim winters were one thing, and occasionally she experienced such severe weather – rain, lightning and snow all together. Here in Icicle, it would snow all year long, except that one time in August when the snow would melt, just enough to see a few frigid blades of grass peeking out, only for a thick sheet of snow to cover it anew a day or two later.

She thought about stopping at the bar or an inn for a brief time, but she was anxious to search for Vincent. On the other hand, she was pretty damn tired and since she waited this long to find him, she figured that Valentine could wait awhile longer. Wherever he was. If he was even waiting… but… probably not…

She didn't see the old woman coming, mostly because the wind had plastered her hair to her face, but also because she was sluggish and restive from her travels.

When they collided, the old woman fell over in the snow with a yelp, dropping her cane along with her small paper bag.

Still standing perfectly upright, Tifa gasped in horror at what she'd done. "Oh!" What if she'd broken the poor woman's hip? Or her back?

_Crap, just crap._

She turned away from the wind so she could move her thick hair out of the way of her vision and peered down in dismay at the woman lying on her side, struggling to sit up in her long, thick coat.

But that didn't stop the old lady from batting at the air in front of her once she rearmed herself with her cane.

Tifa ducked and retreated slightly to avoid the woman's swings, even though she could hardly blame the woman for attacking.

"I am so incredibly sorry," Tifa exclaimed, hoping to stop the woman's blind thrashing. "Let me help you up."

The woman stopped after a moment and silently reached up her hand, her eyes looking nowhere in particular. Was she dazed? Did she have a head injury?

Stepping forward once more, Tifa tentatively grasped the old woman's hand and brought her to her feet, with one arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"Are you alright?" Tifa asked worriedly. "Anything broken?"

"Don't you worry about me," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, and rubbed her back. "Thanks for helping me up."

"You're welcome, but… I'm really sorry for—"

"Ah, don't worry, Shelly. I don't break so easily," she said with a chuckle.

"S-Shelly?" Tifa murmured in confusion. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but my name is—"

"And I forgot… you're not from around here, Shelly… You're not used to this weather."

Tifa thought to inform the woman that she was familiar with this climate, but she just chose to live somewhere that didn't give her frostbite. That, and she didn't frequently knock into old ladies as they passed by doing their daily business.

Ultimately, Tifa rejected those thoughts and bent down so she could futilely brushed off the snow from the woman's soaked bundle.

"Ma'am… your bag…"

The woman frowned slightly, holding out her hand in front of her, waiting.

After an awkward silence, Tifa took the woman's hand in hers so she could close her fingers around the bag. The woman probably didn't see very well.

She drew it close to her body and reached into it with a gloved hand, probably to make sure that everything was in place, before tucking the bag in her coat. "Thank you, dear. That's very sweet of you. Can't forget my meds." The woman breathed a sigh. "Now then… where was I going? Ah yes, home. You'll walk me home, won't you, Shelly?"

"Ah, my name is—"

"Thank you, Shelly." She slipped her arm around Tifa's and frowned. "Would you be a dear and tell me which way the apartments are?"

"Apartments?" Tifa asked, and lifted her gaze to the line of buildings toward the left. "Oh… this way…" She gave the woman a light tug to steer her in the right direction.

"Thank you. Now… Have you seen my grandson, Shelly, or is he still avoiding the family, like always?"

"Um… I haven't seen him," Tifa answered helplessly, debating whether to go with the flow about the 'Shelly' business or to correct the woman about her identity. In the end, she decided that she should be thankful that the granny spoke her language.

"Hmm… Ma'am," she went on, "do you know what language that woman at the chocobo stables speaks? She was um… really nice…"

"Who? Natalia? She's a sweetie. Old fashioned too, but I don't think she realizes she's the only one who talks in the old tongue… and…" Her eyes narrowed and she stopped walking, turning roughly to face her. "…why the hell are you callin' me ma'am all of a sudden, Shelly? I'm Mara!"

She whacked Tifa's leg with the cane in chastisement. Thankfully, her aim still sucked, so she didn't hit her target quite so squarely, and Tifa's legs were numb enough from the cold that she didn't really feel the pain.

"Well… Mara—" she started.

"Anyway, what were we talking about? Oh yes. My stupid grandson. He's probably still after that girl too, even though they broke it off. Men are such idiots sometimes."

"Oh… well… was she nice?" she shyly inquired.

"Only met her once. She seemed nice, I guess. But definitely not for him. Country girl, you know. He needs a girl who's on the go, like him."

Tifa thought to point out that maybe a girl 'on the go' wouldn't be the best fit, because then they'd both be going somewhere, and they'd never see each other. Anyway, she remained silent, determined to lead the woman home as she'd requested. And afterward, she could leave and continue her search. She could ask around the shops, and maybe stop for something to eat too. She packed more greens for Lloyd than food for herself, after all. And then… maybe she could freaking sleep.

She managed to lead the woman back to the apartment building, which was thankfully set with a heater. The change in temperature made her nose run a little, and she drew out a tissue from her pocket to take care of it. Meanwhile, the old woman tapped her cane along the wall, feeling with her hand until she reached the door she wanted. Her place, Tifa guessed. The woman was definitely blind, but she seemed to move along well enough.

She watched the gloved hand bring a single key from her pocket, and she turned it in the keyhole. She pushed the door open and set foot in the room, only to pause and turn her head slightly, her gaze landing somewhere to Tifa's right.

"Come on in, Shelly," the old woman said gruffly. "You could probably use some hot tea… or maybe some hot chocolate? Forgot what you like since you _never visit,_" the woman added testily, but a smile played on the edges of her lips.

On second thought, maybe hanging with the strange old lady couldn't be a bad idea—as long as she didn't beat up Tifa with her walking stick again.

-

There was something different about that day, but he couldn't quite pin down just what that was, and that vexed him to no end. Something about the lighting in the weapon shop, or maybe the change in the wind, but it didn't sit well with him.

He crossed the street, dwelling on this, and the cursed red-headed child hit him with a snowball, in the same spot on his leg as he had a few days prior. It would seem that his aim hadn't improved. A small consolation. He didn't bother on relaying that fact to the boy this time, and he paused once the iciness hit his leg, his hand moving to the gun hidden in his jacket. A second later, when he'd realized what had happened, he continued on his way and withdrew his hand. He didn't feel like dealing with the mischievous devil child on this day, and he certainly couldn't shoot him as much as he wanted to. Rather, his mind was preoccupied with that unreasonable anxiety. He suspected there would be trouble.

Pausing a few steps away from the residence building, he slowly turned in place, giving the area a brief surveillance. Nothing out of the ordinary here, or what he considered ordinary, at any rate. He wouldn't find anything outside, he was sure.

He thought that he would go back to his apartment and read something, with the intention of clearing his mind of this angst. In the end, he knew that he would stop by Mara Thompson's place, to check on her, and she would talk until she felt tired enough to sleep, leaving him awake to do her dishes and slip out to read, as he originally planned... But he still didn't like the idea of leaving her door unlocked. His concern might have been unwarranted, as he knew the old woman could take care of herself—to some extent. And perhaps his unexplainable anxiety was just that. Harmless. Unless he allowed it to engulf him.

He stomped the snow from his boots in the doorway and proceeded into the apartment building, heading up the stairs and then down the dimly lit hall, only to halt once again.

Now, there truly was something different about the smell in here… something… different… Narrowing his eyes, he sent his gaze toward the neighboring doors. Something feminine but… not overbearing.

Suspiciously, he turned his head toward Mara Thompson's door. Perhaps—

No, it couldn't be…

He shook his head slowly, irritated with his paranoia, and stepped over to the door to give a sharp knock. As he waited, he bowed his head to watch the remaining snow melt from his round-toed boots.

He heard the shuffling of plates and glassware within, and then soft footsteps, before the door made a click as Mara unlocked it. The door swung open, and then he lifted his head, dragging one foot forward out of habit.

Except... it wasn't Mara Thompson who stood there.

Somehow, he managed to draw his foot back next to the other, but after that he couldn't move. He could only silently gape at the young woman standing there, hardly able to conceal his surprise at finding her here. Disbelieving, he blinked slowly, as if this were some kind of dream, but when he opened his eyes he found Tifa Lockheart in front of him, as before, and the blood fled his face.

"Tifa," he murmured, as if trying her name for the first time, and truly, it was the first time he spoke her name in years.

She gave him a slow smile then, and he knew that he had found trouble.


	10. Chapter 10

Just a Few Reminders - 10

_Disclaimer: All properties of Final Fantasy 7 belong to Square-enix, but the original characters and story are mine. Capisce?_

Maria Thornton was sure that she heard him murmur a name. Abruptly, she sat up in bed, holding the mystery novel in her lap, and she decided that the book was, without a doubt, just as puzzling as her current bed partner.

Without thinking it through overmuch, she set the book aside and flicked off the light. Then she carefully rose from the bed so as not to disturb him. She crossed the room to move down the hall, ending up in the kitchen. In the dark, she found a glass, and the particular bottle she unconsciously sought, and sat down at the table. As her eyes adjusted, she poured herself a drink, and emptied the glass in a matter of seconds. Catching her breath, she refilled the cup, and took her time with this one, ensuring that it would last for at least a few minutes.

They were strictly bedfellows for warmth, just for their proximity under the covers, and otherwise, but her relationship with the man wasn't very physical. A hug or maybe a hand clasp here and there. On occasion, she'd find a wrinkle on one of his nice shirts and smooth it with a caring hand, and he'd smile crookedly in gratitude. She did love that smile. And his crazy hair that went every which way, as though he'd stuck his hand in an electrical outlet. Sometimes he seemed stupid enough to do something just like that in fact, but that wasn't it at all. It was… distance. He was often somewhere far away, and she could never comprehend where that world was in his head, because he never told her. But she could guess.

And of course, there was the cat. On nights when Cloud wasn't around for dinner, she talked to the cat, demanding where Blue Eyes went, and the creature ended up being as much as a conversationalist as the man in question. But he'd been the one to find the cat in the first place, so Maria sometimes wondered if he and the cat spoke the same language, because she seemed to be left out of their discussions.

She'd half-humorously, half-seriously named the cat 'Daphne,' because the name sounded so uppity for a house pet and yet it reminded her of the mythical stories that she used to love so much when her late father had told them to her. But Cloud Strife never cared to use that name. In fact, he never called the cat anything, really. Maybe "Hey cat," once in awhile. But the feline just gravitated toward him anyway, and he never told her to do anything. He would just stay quiet and maybe bend down to pet her, or he'd sit on the couch and she'd hop up there to join him. And when he would turn to leave the room, the cat, like a shadow, would follow him obediently. If he went to the kitchen to feed her, she would know, and trail him.

Those few times when he showed up to eat something, they wouldn't talk about much. Not of significant things, anyway. He'd comment on some construction going on by the busiest roads, or rude customers he frequently encountered, or he'd just give her one of his seemingly irrelevant observations or questions. She wouldn't think of it much with him there, but when he'd leave her sitting there afterward, she'd wonder what he meant. Was he simply acknowledging simple facts about life or giving her some oblique piece of information?

Even though he confused her, she was damn sure that she loved this man in some way. A parent loved their child in the way she loved him. Or perhaps as one sibling to another—Cloud playing the younger brother while she played the older sister. Or maybe she just felt obligated to be with him, to keep him company. Maybe she loved that mysterious aspect about him, because it made him more interesting.

Maybe she was just afraid of being by herself because sometimes being alone made her think too much. Like about the time when a young man at work came up and flirt with her, as he often did, to compliment the way her hair smelled or voice his approval in some other way, slipping the comment into their discussion smoothly. And each time, she'd flirt right back, enjoying his twinkling brown eyes, but whenever he'd asked her out on a date she'd shut him down. Back then, she was so worried about her family and the planet that she wasn't sure if she could waste time on a relationship, or if she should just take a dive and get a damn coffee with him. To enjoy it while it lasted. And on a cold day in February, just when she was about to agree with him, he was recruited to be part of Soldier, and he didn't make it back home. It took her time to return to her spunky self after that. She'd taken up the bottle then.

And now, here she was, feeling like a woman kindly taking in a stowaway. And once again, she was upset and drinking from a bottle she thought she'd never have to reopen. That explained why it tasted so awful. Cloud might have seemed like her man at one time, taking her on numerous dates and staring at her, but he'd obviously changed his mind about her. Clearly, he'd been in denial, and so had she.

Maria tipped her glass toward the light from outside, as if acknowledging another person at the table, and when she noted the empty cup, she rose from her seat to place it in the sink. She returned the bottle to the high cupboard.

She smiled wryly. High cupboard. As if someone else, like Cloud Strife, was too short to reach it, like a toddler. Obviously, she was feeling a little strange. Alcohol and the wee hours of the morning must've been a bad mix.

Her head hurt a little as well. She forgot that she didn't have much of a dinner tonight, and that was hours ago, but she didn't let the ache bother her.

She returned to bed, still managing not to wake him even though she bumped her shin on the metal frame at the bottom and whispered a loud curse in the dark. Her leg throbbing, she slipped under the covers and turned on her side, propping herself up on one elbow so she could watch him sleep.

He lay on his back, with one arm bent and his hand beneath the pillow under his head. Silly. He would wake up tomorrow morning and shake the cold numbness from his arm. His other hand lay across his chest, and she smiled faintly when she looked at his face.

Young. Childlike. Again, likening him to a child. But she concluded that everyone looked younger in sleep. At any rate, it seemed that in many of the books she'd read, the protagonists nearly always found their love interest asleep and thought that they looked that way. Angelic. Peaceful. Childlike. It seemed to make sense.

She shifted her attention to his lips, and registered the familiar name she saw them form once again.

_Aeris._ Dreaming of Aeris, and not for the first time either. He would mention her name in passing, along with the names of other people he knew. "_I know Aeris would like that." "Yeah, Tifa doesn't like that either." "No, Cid's not into that kind of thing." _But he never said Tifa Lockheart's name in his sleep. Aeris must have been special to him. Then… where was she?

Maria knew these things because she rarely slept much anymore, and she would take the time to listen.

Her smile faded then. Tifa, his childhood friend. He'd never introduced her, but Maria would've liked very much to meet her. Did Tifa understand Cloud, or had she too been left out of his world? Did Tifa ever wonder what he meant, those times when he said those seemingly non sequitur things? Or did she know? Did Cloud ever leave her a note and disappear for awhile? Did she ever wonder if he was there at all? If he was a ghost?

Would he spare Maria further heartache and just… leave for good? Or at least tell her why he stayed with her and what he wanted so she would stop worrying?

There was too much she didn't understand—too many complexities to consider. But she'd sleep now, and tomorrow, she would ask.

Dana froze halfway down the stairs, grabbed onto the railing for support at the sight of him. Tall, with neat, light brown hair curling just slightly into his cerulean eyes. She recognized the finely boned features of his face at once. And she also remembered now, why he drove her absolutely nuts.

He was arranging the magazines on the coffee table in alphabetical order, matching up the corners of each as he stacked them. A wonder he didn't organize them by date or subject as well. Sweet, merciful heaven…

Then he noticed her, and his hand moved spastically, sending the magazines into disarray, as they were before. He straightened at once, his face turning a bit pink, and swiped the hair out of his face as he drank her in with eager eyes.

"Hello, Dana," he greeted softly.

She slumped down another step. "H… Hi. Aidan."

She distantly noted Barret retrieving his coffee cup from the kitchen before he headed upstairs. He'd probably go spend time with his daughter, and wouldn't think twice about her company.

Meanwhile, Aidan stood there in the middle of the living room, quietly observing her for a moment. When their gazes collided, his eyes darted away almost immediately, taking in the surroundings.

She slowly descended the stairs, feeling suddenly very plain in her blue jeans and pumpkin-orange top, while he stood so dapper and clean in his neatly pressed grey suit, its faint blue pinstripes matching his eyes—well—perfectly.

She lingered at the bottom of the stairs, one hand still on the banister, her eyes on the floor, then on her bare toes, the nails half-painted sky blue because Marlene couldn't let her escape the room without some sort of coloring. She was aware of the pink ribbon in her hair as well, and the glitter scattered across her face and hands that was also probably all over her clothes. That sparkly crap was so hard to get rid of... Here she thought she would just have to help the girl with a school project. She didn't realize she'd actually be _part_ of it.

She curled her fingers into her hair self-consciously, but also in despair of being herself with this man who must have traveled so far to come here… and… oh… oh damn… He'd always made her feel this way, didn't he? Making her thoughts turn into scrambled eggs. Though, he never really meant to, she was sure.

Funny, how easily she could convince Tifa Lockheart to go find a man whose whereabouts were unknown and to talk with him. Funny, how much easier it was to give advice about relationships than to actually have one. And with Aidan Thompson _here_, for _her_, Dana found herself tongue-tied. Maybe there would have been more time to practice what she wanted to say—if she'd only known that he was coming.

She felt his hand rest on hers upon the newel post, his fingers lightly brushing her knuckles.

Startled, she lifted her eyes to his, thinking he would look away then, as he had before, and maybe withdraw his hand. Hell, she thought that _she_ would have by now. But neither of them moved.

He gave her a gentle smile.

"Day… How have you been?" he asked. His voice was still as soft as though he meant to tame a wild creature.

Her lips loosened into a faint smile. His politeness was horrendously contagious, and his nickname for her that had once annoyed her to no end was now a welcome appellation. It was like cleaning out your closet only to find a treasure you'd lost once and couldn't find before. A fragile reunion. Was the treasure broken, completely beyond repair, or just a little dusty? Or was it just as you remembered it? In this case, Aidan Thompson appeared to be the very same.

"Fine," she replied. "…And you?"

"Ah… well enough, thank you…" He drew his hand from hers so he could sweep the hair out of his face, a common gesture from him. But since the unbelievable ass hat was so interested in keeping things neat and tidy, he should've just cut his hair short so he didn't have to worry about it, even if she preferred his hair this way.

He blinked and shook his head then, as if out of a trance, and drew a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Had she been more aware of anything besides the fact that he was _here_, she would've noticed them before.

"Here."

"Oh," she breathed in amazement, unaware of the two pairs of curious eyes—one from a significantly higher viewpoint than the other—watching from upstairs, peeking around the edge of a doorframe.

She reached out to take the bouquet from him, dedicating a moment to appreciating the flowers he chose. "They're beautiful," she murmured, and returned her wholehearted attention to his face, annoyed that her own was burning.

His smile grew, and his hand came up, as if to hide it, and then they stood there for a moment, silently, gazing at each other.

Irritated with herself, she threw up one hand in dismissal, and pointed to the kitchen. "So let's go sit down, Aidan. Do you want a drink?"

"Ah… okay. Yes, please. Anything is fine…" And he didn't drink coffee, thank the gods. Even a few sips off that stuff would make the stressed man bounce around the walls.

"Let me just… put these in some water first."

A muffled giggle came from upstairs, and Dana turned her head to look, just in time to catch Barret and Marlene disappearing behind the wall. Damn spies.

Smiling helplessly, she returned her attention to Aidan, who had stepped toward the kitchen, his gaze warily drawn to the eavesdroppers above. She wondered what he'd thought when he found Barret Wallace at the door.

She moved past him so she could put the flowers in a vase in the kitchen, while Aidan cautiously followed, his slow movements reminiscent of a man searching for a wild predator in a dark glade. "Go ahead and sit down," she urged him. _You're making me nervous, just standing there… Any minute now and you'll…_

"Do you live here?"

She blinked in surprise at the question, as she'd expected another, and her fingers stilled around the vase for a moment, before she remembered to slide it across the counter, turning it so her favorite aspect of the fragrant bundle faced her.

"Well, I've got a little place of my own…" She drifted off in her reply as she visited the fridge to review the contents. Marlene's apple juice. Half a gallon of milk. And some chocolate milk. Frowning, she grabbed the chocolate milk carton and went to bring down a glass so she could pour him some.

"But I'm just taking care of things here for my friend," she continued. "She went on a little excursion."

"Tifa."

"Yes, Tifa. You would like her, I'm sure…"

"And is Mr. Wallace… a relative of hers?"

She shook her head, her back still to him as she returned the milk carton to the refrigerator. "No, they're not blood relatives or anything. They're just close friends. And the girl is his daughter," she thought to add. And she'd leave it at that for now.

"So… Tifa likes leaving her house to her friends while she's gone…"

She shrugged as she stepped over to the table to set his drink down in front of him. "She likes company and lets us stick around if we like to, but she doesn't make us her slaves or anything. I chose to come here on purpose. Besides… it's pretty cool that she opens her house for everyone else, putting our needs before hers. About time she went about her own way…"

He nodded in agreement. "Yes… very nice of her…"

Silence prevailed for a time as Dana distantly wondered where Tifa Lockheart was now. The woman had called them to tell them she was leaving Rockettown, but that was awhile ago. Hopefully, wherever she was, she was safe.

"Well… it's very clean," he softly commented. "The house, I mean…"

Still standing, she looked down at him blankly, remembering. One thing out of place in her apartment and without so much as a by-your-leave, he'd been all over it, to return it to some state of spotlessness. And whenever they'd gone out, he'd made a point to study their silverware, to make sure they were properly cleaned. Lipstick stains around the glass, and he'd ask for another, when she wouldn't have given it a second thought. He'd meant well with all of those things. It wasn't his way of telling someone that their ways were inferior to his. Even if she might've felt that way sometimes. That was her fault, not his. Part of why they had so many stupid arguments before.

And now, he looked down at his glass, just to check. Good thing it was clean.

"Is this… chocolate milk?" He asked, glancing up at her quizzically.

"Yes, it is."

"…Okay." He smiled amusedly as he carried the glass to his lips for a sip.

"I figured… you wouldn't drink water from the tap."

"Yeah."

She stood there, thinking of which question she should ask him first before he glanced up at her, his brow knit in concern.

"Sit down, Day," he murmured.

"…Yeah… okay." She slowly stepped toward the table, and she must have looked wary of the thought of it, for he found a need to defend himself.

"I didn't mean that as um… You know, an order… I just…" He hesitated. "…Just for you to be comfort—"

"I know, I know," she answered curtly, aggravated that she made him uncomfortable, and abruptly sat down.

He was supposed to be the uptight one. Why couldn't she just make it a friendly reunion? Why did it have to be awkward? Well, dammit, because it was. They weren't technically 'together' anymore. Which begged the question…

"Why did you come here, Aidan?" _And how…?_

"I came to see you. It's been awhile."

"It has."

"And I wanted to ask… if you were…" He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took another drink, wiping any excess chocolate milk from his upper lip with a swipe of his tongue. "Do you mind if I take off my jacket?"

She nodded, clasping her hands in front of her. She was stuck watching his lips for some reason. "Go right ahead," she answered absentmindedly.

He scooted back a little and shrugged off the jacket. After he draped it over the back of his chair, he moved closer once more, his gaze averted from hers.

She straightened in her seat, her eyebrows raised curiously. "You wanted to ask me something?" she prompted.

He shook his head. "Ah… it'll keep," he said, his eyes straying to where her hands were folded on the table.

It would keep, but she could pry it out of him later. "Okay… so… tell me what you've been up to." _And we'll go from there…_

"I've been working and I decided to go... er… traveling, now that I have a few days off. Finally. The next time I'll have a break like this will be on Christmas."

"How is business?"

"Good enough. I have to move around a lot, you know… I've been living in apartments for the most part… and staying at a lot of hotels…" He glanced up at her, and she caught the meaning there. He hated sleeping in hotels. Amazing that the guy ever got anything done, with his issues. "Kind of a pain in the ass, you know."

She nodded, but really, her mind was already moving on to the next topic foremost in her mind.

"Do you still have it?" she asked softly, speaking without thinking. At once, she thought she would have to explain herself, but he didn't need any further clarification.

He freed the top buttons of his shirt and reached down into his collar to pull out the corded necklace, holding it up for her to see the pendant. _Blue, like…_

"You wear it… under your suit?" she managed in a broken voice.

He shrugged, fingers moving across the pendant, almost protectively. "You made it for me," he said simply.

She smiled faintly. He kept a part of her with him after all this time, actually kept it, as stupid as she thought it was, and now she wanted to show him that she cared…

"Thank you," she said softly.

He smiled shyly, bowing his head to hide his blush, even though his long bangs did little to conceal it from her. "You always liked making necklaces," he reminisced, his words spoken in a low mumble.

She nodded. She certainly did enjoy making necklaces once, but after Meteor she spent less time on her creative endeavors and more time worrying about keeping afloat. Not to mention the stress of the destruction of Midgar, which would take many years to rebuild. Widowed wives, orphaned children, and so on. What had been home to millions was now mostly rubble. Reduced to memories, and if you didn't have any mementos, then that was too bad for you.

But… he'd actually kept it. Close to his heart, in fact. And that was a good reason to consider a second chance.


	11. Chapter 11

Just a Few Reminders – 11

_Disclaimer: All properties of Final Fantasy VII belong to Square-enix, but any original characters and storyline are mine._

_A/N: Took me a long time, I know. Thanks for sticking with me, my beloved compandas. Nice to see all those hits on the last chapter. And kind of annoying too, though I won't start a riot over it. Those reviews never seem to add up, do they? Hai capito? Tutto bene? Domande? Allora…_

-

When she pulled the door open, she half-expected to find a much older man there, perhaps one bent over a cane and prepared to tell as many life stories as Mara Thompson had related.

Instead, she found another kind of man there. And not just any 'him.'

At the realization that her search was over, she might have collapsed, if she hadn't been holding onto the door. She didn't know how to feel, really. It shouldn't have been a surprise to her—and yet it was—that he would make it so easy, however unintentionally.

His black hair was tied back at the nape, a few strands sticking up from the static. How practical, she thought, that he would have his hair that way. And how common, for it to be affected by static in this weather, but she couldn't help but puzzle over it anyway. Who knew that the laws of nature applied to him? She smiled inwardly. He probably had to eat once in awhile too.

What's more, he no longer hid behind the mantle with the high collar, even though he still wasn't very adventurous in terms of fashion. He was dressed in black from head to toe. His long black coat opened just enough to reveal the button-up shirt underneath, and the neatly creased slacks had a curious spot of dampness on one leg—another notable feature. On his feet, he wore a pair of round-toed boots. His claw hand was tucked in one pocket and he looked remarkably... well... ordinary. If he could ever be ordinary, anyway.

"Tifa," he greeted, his voice little more than a whisper.

Returning her stunned regard to his face, she gave him a slow smile, her relief displayed in the gesture and the frantic butterflies dancing in her stomach a clear testament to her anxiety.

"Ah… hi, Vincent," she returned, her breath tight. "It's so good to see you."

One step forward brought her to him, and she threw her arms around his neck, turning her cheek toward his chest. Against her skin, his clothes felt cool from the outdoors. He smelled like gun oil and leather, with a hint of wood smoke.

She should have remembered that Vincent Valentine did not like physical contact, and darn it, that included hugs. She'd never really violated that unspoken rule before, so she supposed he would let it slide this time, especially as they hadn't seen each other for two years. Maybe give her a little freebie. Wouldn't he?

But then… he'd given her some rather romantic gifts, which was what started this whole thing in the first place, wasn't it? He'd get a hug, whether he liked it or not. He deserved it. And he probably deserved a good punch in the face too, for leaving so suddenly, without letting her properly thank him. He should've known that she'd come after him eventually. She'd asked herself what took her so long, in fact.

As expected, he stood there very still, enduring her hug with all the animation of a sturdy tree trunk, before she finally drew back, her face flushed.

"So glad to see you well, Tifa," he quietly intoned, his eyes resting impassively on her face.

"That you, Valentine? Come in and meet Shelly. Give her your coat and come have something to drink!"

"I don't—" His gruff reply was cut off as the name from Mara's lips registered in his mind, and he shifted his curious regard to Tifa. "—want anything. And I'll keep it, thank you."

Tifa smiled weakly and murmured, "Ah, Vincent, I don't think she…"

Vincent nodded, already comprehending, and she knew that she didn't have to say anything. What, then, did he think of her new name?

An interesting thing to be sure, that Vincent Valentine had befriended an old woman. Just what did Mara know about him? Had he told her about himself? Or was he just as informative as he was with Tifa and the rest of Avalanche? Did she think he would have changed so much since those days?

Interesting too, that he'd left his friends—she believed that's what they were to him, at least—to make his home in a colder, more uncompromising climate, far away from the large cities. Why was that so surprising to her? Did she ever think he was a city boy? She hardly knew a thing about the man, actually. Never thought so much about him until recently, and there was that little issue of his reluctance to communicate, but… they could work on that, couldn't they?

"Valentine, you've not grown deaf, have you? Do I have to come over there and get you myself?"

Mara's irritable voice came once more, and he lifted one foot to step back, before his gaze returned to the older woman.

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Thompson, I only came to—"

"Vincent, is she your grandmother?" Tifa whispered unthinkingly, only realizing afterward that such a thing was probably impossible, particularly as Vincent had once mentioned not having any living relatives. She took a step toward him, suspecting his urge to flee, reluctant to let him go, meaning to forestall his hasty exit with both words and action. If they could just have a minute to—

"No, Tifa," he replied, his voice inflectionless, shaking his head as his gaze switched back to her. "We are not related—"

"Who's Tifa?" Mara demanded. Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, using her walking stick for support. Her old bones creaked and her muscles ached in complaint at the sudden movement.

Something mustn't have been quite right, because the moment she stood, she moaned softly, bringing up one gnarled hand to stroke her temple.

Watching her, Tifa thought she should go and help her. But luckily, whatever happened to the old woman in that instant appeared to pass in the next, and she lifted her head, looking bewildered.

"Who's there?" she softly inquired of the room, sounding like a lost little girl.

Tifa gaped at the woman in alarm. To think that she had been more concerned about whether Vincent would stay or go than the health of this old woman. Annoyed with herself, she came to Mara's side, a gentle hand resting atop her shoulder, but she was mindful of the other woman's tendency to use her cane when she felt threatened in any way. More accurately, her first impulse to hit whatever she'd encountered in her blindness. Tifa couldn't blame her, really. She would be the same way.

"I'm Tifa," she said as sweetly as she could manage. After all, she wasn't so fond of being Shelly. "Tifa Lockheart."

"Tifa Lockheart," she softly echoed with a little nod. "Yes… I like the sound of that name very much."

"Well, thank you," she replied gratefully, curiously sending her gaze toward Vincent, who still stood in the doorway as though he would take root in the floor.

"I'm Mara Thompson and—"

"Y-yes, ma'am. And you made me hot cocoa earlier. You can smell it now, right?" she said helpfully.

"Did I? Well… I certainly can smell it." She nodded, but sharply turned her head in Tifa's general direction, her forehead deeply furrowed. "But stop calling me ma'am! And just where the hell is Vincent?"

"Ah, he's here," Tifa patiently replied. "You can sit down now, Mara."

"Well, did you invite him over? Vincent, come here and sit down. And would you mind pouring him a drink, Tifa?" she asked, smiling ruefully. "I'm so… very tired." Her hand came up to massage her temple.

"Oh, I don't mind at all. You just rest for awhile, Mrs. Thompson." Amazing, Tifa thought, that this woman's moods could change so quickly.

"Ah, you're so very nice. A very sweet girl. Bless you."

Vincent leaned against the doorframe as Tifa tended to a woman she'd only met just recently. And yet she treated her with the same love and care she shared with her closest friends. Indeed, everyone with the same… treatment. What kind of person was he, to not enjoy the company of others unless… they were—

"Tifa, please get that man to sit down, for Odin's sake," Mara persisted, now seated in her chair with the cane in her hand as if she were a judge with a mallet. "How long has he been standing there? I should knock you into next Tuesday."

He shook his head absently, more so at his indecision with staying or leaving in what could be a trap than at their attempts to be hospitable. Although the anxiety of Tifa's presence made him want to run, the feelings he held for her compelled him to stay. And what could he do, precisely? She would come after him if he chose to run. Or worse, she would recruit the others to help her. A pointless mission, and a pity that she didn't know he wasn't worth her time and effort. He ignored the part of him that knew a woman with her energy could easily maintain relationships and a job at the same time. He despised the part of him that wanted her to make time for him. To stay here with him.

Once again, he chided himself for expressing even an iota of his feelings for her a few years prior, when he should have kept himself at a safe distance and admired her from afar. He knew she deserved far better than someone like him.

She moved, turning to look up at him to consider Mara's question, and turned to meet his neutral gaze.

She smiled timidly, wondering if she should be as forceful as Mara, or if she should let the man just... do his thing. He probably was surprised she came after all. No more taken aback as she was to see him there.

"Vincent, may I take your coat and maybe get you something to drink?" Tifa asked courteously, as if he were an expected dinner guest.

The moment she said his name, he was shaking his head in response.

Mara, of course, had something to say about the matter.

"Yes!" she piped in, tapping her cane on the floor in agreement. "Take his coat, and go get the man a drink. What'dya want, Vincent?"

"I don't—"

"You get dried out so easily in this weather. You should know that by now!"

Finally, he nodded, once again forgetting that Mara couldn't see, in no mood to argue about something so... pointless to him. No one understood that he no longer had such an appetite, and that he found little food or drink to enjoy.

Contemplating the disconcerting situation he found himself in, Vincent stepped away from the wall, cautiously moving, slowly approaching them, his senses drawing in everything Tifa Lockheart. The sight of her, the way she moved. The quiet, calming sound of her footfalls, her gentle voice, the subtly sweet scent of her. He should truly go, but... he couldn't stop his feet from advancing toward her.

His limbs suddenly unable to carry his weight, Vincent collapsed into the chair across from Mara Thompson, deliberately facing the door with one leg stretched out past the table, should he need to escape. But he should have gone before; now was not the time.

And still... he glared fiercely at the door, wishing it closer, wishing himself to be a stronger man, and he fisted his hands at his sides.

His gaze darted back and forth, from the door to a neutral space beside the table. His wayward hand drifted toward his right pocket, and he stopped himself. Out of habit, his hand had gone to the photo in his pocket. The picture of her that he cherished so dearly. She could not know. Absently, he shook his head and withdrew his hand, to let it curl in itself, to prevent it from straying.

"So, how was work today?" Mara casually inquired.

He hardly remembered to reply, so distracted was he by his thoughts and the sound of Tifa moving about behind him in the kitchen, the slightest noises made more strident by his anxiety. Though... he appreciated the question, as it provided a divergent occupation for his mind.

"Work was..."

Ever the hostess, even while far from her own home, Tifa was beside him then, setting the drink down. He turned his head slightly, watching in helpless fascination as her silky hair fell forward, past her shoulders, close enough to touch, if he dared.

No, do not dare.

"...fine," he managed at last, his attention shifting to the steaming teacup as Tifa seated herself beside him. He could barely register the calming aroma of the drink for all the turmoil in his head.

Stand up. Turn and walk away. Pretend you don't care. Become invisible. Do what you do best.

"Thank you," he remembered to say, disturbingly short of breath. His voice must have been hard to hear, but he saw her nod of acknowledgement at the corner of his eye.

"Well, Valentine, do you know Tifa?" Mara blurted out suddenly.

"We are... were... comrades. A few years ago."

A smile played at the edges of Mara's lips, and she idly toyed with the grip of her cane. "Oh really?"

Let the deranged woman think what she liked. She would not be able to understand.

"Um... you know... back when Shinra was... corrupt," Tifa added quietly, inspecting her fingers. Her hands were very dry, he noted. She should've had some ointment for them. "Of course, there's a lot of work to be—"

"Shinra! Why, those little..." Tifa lifted her head sharply at the woman's outburst, and Mara shook her head. "When my no-good grandson was still doing business in Midgar, with that no-good girlfriend of his, he said the mortgage rates kept climbing higher and higher, and he couldn't make a goddamn living without juggling multiple jobs! All because of that damn Shinra family. Things went from bad to worse, and now Midgar's rubble and—"

"Well, actually... It's rebuilding... slowly but surely," Tifa quietly murmured. "A good friend of ours works in Midgar... And as for Shinra—"

"Hmph." She tapped her walking stick against the floor again, her lips pursed grumpily. "Probably not going to help much. The world as we know it is doomed. I'm sure of it."

Tifa shook her head, her hand coming up to hide her smile even though she knew the woman could not see. She would've liked to see how Barret would get along with this woman.

"Anyway, Vincent, the man at the general store mentioned something about you having a metal hand and how... it was like a claw…" Mara snorted. "Have you ever heard something so asinine in your entire life? I called him a name I'd rather not repeat, but he just let it go."

Tifa cautiously brought her eyes to meet Vincent's, and he shook his head. It wasn't necessary for Mara to know, perhaps. And even if she did, what was the point? What would that accomplish? Pity? No, he wouldn't get it from her, and he didn't want it anyway.

No. What he wanted was to stand up and walk away. Take his guns and… get the hell out of here…

A sudden tightness in his neck reminded him that he would be wise to keep his emotions well beneath the surface. He forced his nerves to calm themselves, though the amount of concentration required made it a futile effort.

The old woman was humming to herself then, perhaps remembering a song of her youth. Vincent gazed intently at his glass, half-heartedly searching for the song in his memory despite the other things happening in his mind, and he could almost remember.

"Mara, were you ever a musician?" Tifa asked.

The woman smiled, like a young child might after being caught doing a mischievous deed. "I played the piano once. But I preferred to sing. Do you play, Tifa?"

"Well yes, I... I play the piano. A lot more than ever, actually... and... sometimes, I suppose I sing too."

"Well, now. That's interesting. Very interesting." Mara turned her head, her brow creased in contemplation. "Vincent, do you play too?"

"I cannot play anymore."

"Hmph! And why the hell not? You didn't practice, did you? Of course you didn't. Too busy chatting with an old woman like me. And before that, you were busy with... what... comrades? Is that the word you used?"

"Yes," he replied blandly, refusing to address any of her accusations.

Of course he'd practiced, all those years ago, particularly in times when he needed to vent out his frustrations, which was often. An opportunity that cleaning his guns or reading could not provide. And since those times—those times he'd rather not remember—there had simply been no time. Indeed, there had been several distractions and responsibilities. And the first time he'd touched a piano since was Nibelheim. Once in the mansion, and once in Tifa Lockheart's room. He'd run his fingers across the smooth surface of her piano in the room that smelled like her. Reluctant to leave. Wishing to remain there for an indefinite time... until... until...

"Vincent," Tifa murmured.

Her soft voice tore him from his thoughts, and he turned his head to regard her disinterestedly.

Silently, she gazed back at him, a warm smile of gratitude on her lips—he should not be watching those lips—and he knew without asking, without explanation, just what she was smiling about.

Dear gods, why did she have to come?

"Are you staying in town?" he asked lowly, speaking without thinking.

"It depends... I think—"

A loud snore interrupted her reply, and Vincent lifted his weary gaze to find Mara Thompson asleep in her chair, her body slumped with her chin to her chest and her cane propped against her leg, the stick still loosely held in her fingers. And to think that she was wide awake a moment ago… Perhaps it was a side effect of her medication.

Which meant...

_I'm alone with…_

Tifa suddenly pushed back her chair and rose to retrieve the soft, plaid, flannel blanket from the couch. He watched her take the cane with care from the slackened fingers to lean it against the edge of the table before she draped the blanket over the sleeping woman. That done, she straightened and shyly raised her eyes to Vincent's.

"I'm returning to my apartment," he suddenly announced, feeling guilty for being caught observing her so closely. "Did you have arrangements to sleep here, in Mara's abode?"

"No... Well, I thought I could... you know... talk with you for awhile."

"You wanted to talk to me."

She rewarded him with a blank stare, and then blinked rapidly, as if she thought it would remove some sort of clutter from her mind, and shook her head for good measure. "Vincent Valentine, do you have any idea what I've been doing this week?" she asked, her voice somewhat chiding, despite the soft voice she used to deliver the words.

"I can only imagine," he answered.

"I was looking for you," she firmly informed him, "and you're a hard man to find, you know that? And to be honest, if I hadn't run into Mrs. Thompson..." She shifted her attention to the sleeping woman, and brought up one hand to carefully smooth the blanket against her shoulder. "...I don't think I would have found you. And..." Her lips softened a little. "I'm so very glad I did," she added in a whisper.

Perhaps if he acted coldly enough, she would leave him.

"Why?" he murmured back, his eyes inexorably returning to her face. By mistake, his gaze rested on her lips, which were chapped from the cool weather. He wanted to put his finger just there.

She shook her head again, probably exasperated, and replied, "I haven't forgotten, even if you have. Don't you remember?" Her tone turned wistful as she brought her reflective claret eyes back to his face. "Marlene remembers. She misses you. She tells stories about you and... she wears flowers in her hair often. She drew you something too. She wanted me to bring it to you."

_I could not forget, Tifa Lockheart._

His unruly hand slipped into his pocket once again, and he found the creased photograph of her there.

"Tifa..." His eyelashes drifted down, and he shook his head. "You didn't have to come all this way."

"I wanted to."

He said nothing. Of course she wanted to see him. He was her friend. Whatever that meant. But what would they do? 'Hang out,' as she'd often said? Go to a movie? He'd have difficulty not considering it a date, even if she would just consider it a chance to 'catch up.' He was overjoyed to see her, and frightened for the danger in it.

She spoke up again, her eyes briefly lowered to the table as she pushed a crumb with her finger. "Can we please just go somewhere and..." She shrugged. "I don't know... have a drink and... and talk? Just for a little while? Please?" She carried her eyes back to his face once more in anticipation of his answer.

A drink. A friendly, practical offer. But where, his apartment? Certainly not…

He averted his gaze from hers then, but not before glimpsing the earnestness in her eyes. He couldn't refuse her, no matter how much he wanted to leave this place, to put her far behind him.

Tifa Lockheart came all this way to locate him, without knowing where he was. No doubt Cid helped, and others. She had more connections than he would ever have. But fate brought her here, and a woman so determined would look for him again if he fled, he knew. And what kind of a man would he be to flee again? Perhaps a foolish one.

And he was an even greater fool to stay.

He bowed his head in a sort of resigned nod, his eyelashes drifting down with the movement. Then, for the length of five heartbeats he hesitated, but the same decision came to him no matter how far he analyzed the situation. It was hopeless to deny it.

"As you wish," he murmured at last.

He lifted his head just in time to witness the delicate features of her face as they transformed with her smile.


	12. Chapter 12

Just A Few Reminders – 12

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all of its properties belong to Square-enix. Any original material belongs to me.

-

Propping one hand up on the doorframe, Barret Wallace peered outside as Dana and the young man hurried down the sidewalk together.

She'd gone out the door once, only to return a few seconds later. As Aidan waited on the front stoop, she'd run upstairs to change and to scrub the glitter from her face and nail polish from her fingers. Of course the glitter wouldn't come off. But she'd run out again without so much as a glance his way, her hair flying out behind her. Little did she know that the pink ribbon was there too, proof that Marlene had used one of her recalcitrant triple knots during their worked-turned-into-play. Those knots… The girl should have been a sailor.

The big man's eyes softened at the thought of his little girl in a sailor hat, even as he wondered if he'd be hearing about this guy when Dana came back. Seemed that he'd come out of nowhere.

"There she goes," he drawled.

"Where she goes?"

At the little voice behind him, he turned his head to look down at Marlene and smiled without mirth. "I dunno where," he replied, and narrowed his eyes skeptically at her. "You goin' anywhere, baby?"

Silently, she shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together.

"Plannin' on runnin' out without talkin' to me first?"

She shook her head more vehemently, sending her hair flying against her face.

He smiled grimly. "Yeah, you ain't the type."

Suddenly, she tugged on his hand. Or more appropriately, her tiny hand wrapped around that one finger she could grip, and she stepped toward the door, pulling him along with her. "Let's go to the park, Papa!"

"You… you want me to take you to the park?" he asked in surprise, his eyebrows flying up in amazement. He couldn't believe his ears. Shell-shocked, after not being able to spend time with her for so long. All those times he thought she didn't love him. Or those times where he fought in Avalanche, thinking her dead… This made up for all of that.

She nodded vigorously, her eyes rounded beseechingly.

Well, damn. Could he ever deny her? That face?

He cracked a smile, bright white teeth contrasting his dark face, and nodded in concession. "Sure, baby. We'll go to the park. Go on an' get your shoes."

Maybe there was still hope for him yet. And as for Dana, he'd expect an explanation from her later. Since when did all this business interest him so much anyway? He had gone too soft. Living around women for too damn long, probably. He should be thankful that Tifa didn't make him wear a flowery apron.

_That'll be a cold day in hell, Wallace. _

He shook his head at such an idea and went to retrieve the house key.

-

Aidan Thompson watched her from the corner of his eye as they walked, remembering a time when she actually had freckles, and how he'd tried to count them, before she'd noticed him staring. She'd thought he was staring because of a bug on her face. There had also been a bug on her face, but as it was only one, he figured it was unnecessary to count it. Not that it didn't bother him. That event hadn't ended well for him anyway—or the bug, for that matter.

Quickly, he lowered his eyes, as though afraid that she might see the memory played out there if she'd turned her head to look just then. He didn't even know why he thought of it. Just a stupid little occurrence from the days when he actually liked himself.

And since those days, Dana Campbell has acquired another boyfriend. And perhaps more than one. Why did that bother him so much? He should have been happy for her… Of course she would be with other people. She was likable. And he was… Well, he was different. Few could put up with him.

"Day…"

"Yes?"

"Who's Will?"

"Will?"

He glanced over at her, and his gaze fell to her shoulder, where a stray piece of string clung to her shirt. Perhaps he had a suppressed trauma of bugs after seeing one on her, because he glared at that string as though it were a killer insect instead of a loose thread, and reached out with thumb and forefinger to pick it off her.

He told himself that it wasn't a flimsy excuse to touch her. If he were bolder, he would have gone for the pink ribbon in her hair, a girly accessory he never imagined he'd see there.

"Sandra told me about him," he replied shyly, tucking his hands into his pockets, lest they'd wander.

"Jeez, Sandra… She loves talking about other people's business. Gossip."

"Well… uh… she told me that… he was your violent but good-looking ex. Is that just a rumor?"

She sighed. "No. He was. I dated him for… let me think…" She looked up at buildings as they passed, trying to remember and yet… trying not to recall too much. "Three weeks."

He swept the hair from his eyes. The breeze carried it back. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, a million other questions hidden behind the words.

"No. Well… yes. Once. But I'm fine. As you can see." She shrugged as though it was nothing. "Besides, you couldn't have beaten him up for me. He was a tank. Should've been in Soldier."

"Well… I would have tried."

"That's very sweet of you." She glanced over at him at the corner of her eye to gauge his reaction, and smiled when she saw his own lips curl up just slightly.

"You would have saved me. Besides, I know I hit like a girl." He looked over at her soberly then, considering her lingering smile. "I'm serious, Day. Are you alright?"

She nodded and briefly touched his arm in a gesture of reassurance. "I'm fine, Aidan. Of course it wasn't fun. But it's a good thing I caught on about him early, don't you think?"

He nodded belatedly in response and looked away, his thoughts distant. A good thing to catch that early… Yes it was, and perhaps she'd felt that way about _him_ too. That was why they weren't dating anymore. That was why he should've turned back the way he came to head back to Mideel, or somewhere else far, far away. Because he was a man who blew everything out of proportion, and she was a girl who didn't seem to let anything bother her. And maybe it was stupid of him to bring it up. At least he could be proud for exceeding the standards of that boyfriend by virtue of not being a total asshole. He liked to think that of himself, anyway.

Even so, he'd be smart to leave.

Who was he kidding? He was bound to the path he was on now. Whether that was a sturdy bridge or a rickety one with tattered ropes and rotted wooden planks and a thousand-foot drop, it didn't matter. And for once he wasn't worried if he came out scarred or bleeding on the other side. He could only imagine one ending for this story.

He nodded again, this time to his thoughts. And then he spoke.

"Day, I'm going to have to take care of some things, but then I want to talk to you about something."

She narrowed her eyes charily at that. "Talk to me about what?"

"See, that's the thing. I… ah… can't tell you that just yet."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well, because I… you see… I have to get the timing right."

She threw her hands up. "What better time than now, Aidan? Why do we always have to do this preliminary crap whenever you want to ask me something? Just ask me."

"No."

She sighed in frustration and looked away, considering the children drawing with colored chalk on the walkway. Why did he even bring it up if he wasn't going to tell her?

"Alright then," she conceded. "So what about the other thing? The stuff you have to take care of?"

"I was going to get to that," he pointed out.

"Well… Why haven't you?"

He sighed heavily and rolled his long-suffering eyes upward, missing the amused glint in her eye at her contrived impatience.

"It's about my grandmother," he said after a time, his gaze looking everywhere but at her.

"What about her? Does she still hate your guts?" _And mine._

"Well… It's Dad she's ticked at. But yeah. It's me too. I can't blame her too much…"

She grimaced, not wishing to think on it. "Just… tell me what the deal is," she pressed, resigned to the older woman's dislike toward her. Dana just couldn't understand. At one point, it seemed that all of his family didn't think she was good enough for him. And what had she done, other than being so unlike him?

"…She's getting worse. And… she might be dying. I need to see her. I mean… I want her to die happy, at least… and not lonely. I want to—"

She sharply turned her head to look at him incredulously. "Wait a minute. How long has it been since you've seen her?"

"Um… when you and I… broke up…"

Her eyes darkened with ire and she punched his shoulder. "You shithead! No wonder she's pissed at you. Do you even know where she lives?"

He took on a painful expression and hugged his arm where she hit him. "Why y-y-yes, I—"

"Why didn't you think to go there first?!"

"Because I—" He realized his voice was louder than necessary, as he'd attempted to justify his case with greater volume. He consciously lowered it and looked over at her warily. "I wanted you to come with me."

"But… why? She hates me too. Though… I don't even understand why. I was nice to her."

"Honestly, I don't think she hates anyone… It's just… Maybe she's… bitter or…" He drifted off, perhaps deciding that his placating words would have no effect. The damage had been done.

She shook her head absently. The woman had thrown some harmful words her way. Filthy slut. Conniving slattern. The words didn't even fit her, but Mrs. Thompson made her seem like some kind of witch. And why?

"So… will you?" Aidan murmured.

"Will I… what?"

"Will you come with me? To see her?"

"To…?"

"To… reconcile… I… guess…"

She lifted an eyebrow, not convinced. "And… will she apologize to me?"

"Er… I can't promise you that."

She sighed. "And what else? You need me to hold your hand?"

"I wanted to be with you, okay?" His cheeks flushed a dark pink and he turned his head as though he meant to run away without hearing her answer. "…I thought… I thought it would be good."

She smiled self-consciously and lowered her eyes to her shoes. "I'll think about it," she finally replied.

Then she lifted her head to consider his profile, making note of the determined set of his jaw. The day he saw anything through to the end would be a fearful thing to behold. But then… he had come here. She never thought he would, after the things she'd said to him, after the words he'd tossed back to her… But they were just words, like the ones his grandmother threw at her.

_Just words…_

"And how about that next thing you were going to ask me?" she added. And if her voice had a bit more softness than she'd intended—so what? She wanted to know. Really wanted to know.

He smiled mysteriously, tipping his head in thought as the answer came to him.

"I'll play it by ear, Dana, and then I'll tell you everything. I promise." And if she came with him, he could do anything.

She pursed her lips then, inexplicably—

Alright, not inexplicably annoyed. Just annoyed. Quite reasonably. And he was counting his footsteps again, his head bobbing slightly with every step, his lips silently moving. She wanted to make him lose count, to see if he'd freak out as though his world would crumble to dust.

She shook her head at his habit, but smiled anyway, because even though times had changed, it seemed that their relationship had generally remained the same. It was just a matter of those pesky words that had ruined the best part of what they had before. Just words. They could fix it. They could work at it. Because she couldn't see any other scenario.

After a moment, she spoke up. "Aidan…"

"Hmm?"

"I want to tell you something."

He nodded agreeably enough, lifting his head slightly to look at her, eyebrows raised. "What is it?"

She smiled mysteriously and turned her head so her hair would hide her smile from him. "It will have to wait," she murmured.

So long as he kept her guessing, she would have to repay him in kind.

* * *

Lengthy-and-somewhat-gratuitous-but-not-as-gratuitous-as-a-lemon-sort of author's note: Thanks for your patience, my compandas. When my computer committed seppuku—which would have been perfectly acceptable if it had a topknot and a cool sword—I lost a lot of stuff I wrote as well as my way in writing. The very same day, I stared at my action figure of Altaïr (thank you, Ubisoft), beseeching him to lend me some of his awesomeness. I wrote a passage about him that kicked all manner of ass, and I knew that I could not quit writing just because a machine failed on me. (How stupid would that be? Writers write.) Also, someone wrote a nice note about my artwork, and it certainly helped. Holy crap, a samurai and an assassin from the Crusades in the same paragraph. I think the planet will explode from the badassery. Oh, digressions. I hope this update is worth the wait. If not, then the story is filled with more than one chapter. You're bound to enjoy at least one of them.


	13. Chapter 13

Just a Few Reminders – 13

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII belongs to Square-enix. But any original aspects belong to me. It's like I'm writing fan fiction or something…

-

It would be the first time that he'd left without telling Mara Thompson to lock her door. Of course, the landlord already knew about her. It only took him one glance through the office window to let the man know that he would have to go upstairs and lock the door for her. Out of past habit, Vincent Valentine was wary of the man, if only because he had the key to everyone's door. Therefore, he wouldn't let himself wander too far from home. If he could call it… his home.

As he'd expected, Tifa had washed the remaining dishes before they left, careful not to let them clink, lest she would disturb the woman asleep in her chair. Naturally. She was accustomed to serving everyone and to generally care for people simply because she wanted to do so. Unsurprisingly, she would note even the simplest act of kindness. Her fault, if he could call it that, dwelled in the fact that she had not yet served herself, that he knew of. She certainly wasn't benefiting herself by coming to find him.

But the fact was that he should've known she would come for him. And he should have been mildly alarmed that she'd made the journey alone. But he knew she was a modern, independent young woman, perfectly capable of walking over puddles, taking off her own coat, pulling out her own chair, and yes—opening doors all by herself. It maddened him because these small tasks were all he could do for her, or at least… all that he would let himself do. And after all, it gave him a small portion of satisfaction.

For now, however, he wouldn't complain about the issue that she certainly didn't need him to open doors for her. Instead, he'd lament a more dismal truth—the inevitable minute when she'd acknowledge her mistake in coming here and decide to leave him. If the Fates were merciful, then she would spare him the suspense and make that minute come sooner.

At the present, they walked silently, one party's expression bright and sunny, the other's stony. The main hallway currently smelled of pizza and socks, most likely due to the fact that several groups of young men occupied many rooms on the first level. Only a slight crimping of his lip gave any indication of his displeasure on that score.

He stepped past his much-more-pleasant-smelling companion to open the door to the complex, standing aside to let her through. A smart man would have trusted his brain and stayed behind, but what kind of a man would he be to close the door on Tifa Lockheart? The same kind of man he was, perhaps, to leave her in the first place. And… all he wanted was to be with her. Why couldn't he just convince himself he could never have her and leave? Why was it so hard to accept?

She walked past him, offering a grateful smile as she stepped outside into the cold, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. When she wasn't looking, he rolled his eyes at his foolishness and let the door fall closed behind him. Following her closely, his hand went to the picture in his pocket, a move as natural as though he'd gone for the gun in his shoulder holster instead.

"You look good, Vincent. I mean… it's nice to see your face."

Helplessly, he turned his head to look at her, wondering what made her say that. And he had several answers to ask her now. Did she mean that he looked 'good' as in attractive? 'Good' as in healthy? And what was it about his face? Did she think him handsome? He might have been handsome a long time ago. Now, he wasn't so sure he could qualify. And his appearance didn't truly matter, for inside, he was a—

"Thank you," he gruffly answered. _You look good as well, Tifa. Very, very good. Fine, even. And not just your face. All of you..._

"So… you've been working?" she went on.

He nodded, and remembered that she still had her attention elsewhere. Perhaps a fortunate thing, as his mind had gone to a disturbing place, and those thoughts—very, very _bad_ ones—might have seeped into his eyes. "Yes, Tifa."

"Where do you work?"

"I've taken a job at the weapon shop. Occasionally, I…"

"…Yes?"

"I keep a vigil over things in town. For intruders. Before I'd arrived, the townspeople were used to bandersnatches and other creatures attacking their… children. There had been two deaths recently… And so… I've made it my business to protect them."

Guarding the village, of course, did not encompass all of his pastimes. He need not tell her the rest. In fact, he shouldn't tell her any of this, and he knew that he was babbling in his anxiety, but at least she didn't appear bored. He should just… shut his mouth. He'd watched her face as he spoke, first noting the pink of her cheeks and nose from the frigid air, before seeing the nod of approval when he mentioned being a guardian, and finally the deep frown of concern at his report of children being attacked. Of course she would approve of that particular activity. His thoughts of her? Another matter.

"What do you do for fun around here?" she asked cheerfully.

He examined her feet as her boots crunched into the snow hypnotically. And why he found that hypnotic was an absurd idea. Almost as ridiculous as the question she now asked him. Perhaps she was only being conversational, and her inspiration had come from seeing the cluster of girls and boys of varying ages racing towards the hill, each child heavily armed with snowballs. Something that she might call 'fun.' To him, a potentially dangerous venture, if he decided to participate in such a game with her.

"Fun?" he queried, as though he'd never heard the word before. It had certainly been a long time.

She sighed, no doubt wishing herself away. Yet she still smiled. "You know what I mean, I think. What do you do in your spare time? For enjoyment?"

"Enjoyment…" She would not care to know what he truly found enjoyable. "I take walks. I read."

"Jeez, you're worse than I am."

Though he would keep it to himself, Tifa had no idea of how many ways that remark held truth. Fixated on that thought, as usual, he remained quiet, even though he thought he might ask what she'd been doing with herself. He could guess. Dreaming about Cloud, wondering when he'd call her…

No. She wouldn't be dreaming of Cloud. She wasn't as hopeless as he was. At least, that's what he wanted to think, because he wanted her all to himself.

"So… you've been here all this time?" she continued.

Suddenly, he felt much like a captured Turk under interrogation, or perhaps one reporting to the higher ups. Say the wrong thing or spill his guts, and he'd lose his life. A Turk who might be as good as dead anyway. He sighed. But this was not Shinra, in point of fact. This exchange wouldn't lead to death. This was Tifa Lockheart. While she could easily break his nose with a well-placed punch, it was more likely that his penalty for not speaking the whole truth would lead to more questions. And if he told her forthrightly? The very same result. He couldn't win either way.

"I've been here and there," he murmured back. Of course, 'here' did not necessarily mean Icicle Village. Such a dreadfully unimaginative name for a snowy rural community, now that he thought about it.

Tifa's lips curled up in a rueful smile at his scant response, wondering at which point he'd slipped back into his 'Fewest Words Possible' mode. She had to admit that she was surprised when he told her about his hobbies in Icicle. But then, she was mostly talking just to keep herself from addressing a few things.

And _gods_, how could she explain herself for coming here? He couldn't understand that those gifts had made her so happy that she thought her heart might burst. When she'd felt down, it had been Vincent Valentine who pulled her back up with a simple act of kindness. The gesture made sweeter by the unexpectedness. And maybe that's all it was. Kindness. She'd read too deeply into his actions, and now she looked like a fool, blowing it out of proportion like Rufus Shinra's paparazzi. She was amazed that Vincent didn't mention one thing about her being here as inappropriate or an act of lunacy.

She'd lived in a fantasy before, only it had been another man in the picture. And she'd put her whole heart into it until there was nothing left for her to be a person. And she could have been in danger again, if she truly could describe what she felt for Vincent Valentine at the moment. She just wanted to reach out to him. And why? He hadn't asked for it.

Maybe she just felt that they had a connection, and that their relationship had the potential to grow into something deeper, if he'd let her in. And she'd thought that he'd made the first move… Or… maybe she was just losing her mind, and she was putting all of her heart into something that would only leave her lonesome in the end. All because of the same mistakes she'd made with—

"I've just realized that… my being here is a little… ridiculous," she blurted out, interrupting her thoughts. She laughed lightly as she peered down to inspect her hands. Her knuckles were dry. Mostly to give herself something to do, she dug into her pocket to pull on her fingerless gloves. She needed to get a grip because she had a sudden urge to run away.

It didn't help that Vincent didn't address her observation in any way, and the silence drew out for so long that she wondered if he'd even heard her. But of course, he must have. She sharply turned her head to look up at him, willing him to speak.

His eyes were vacantly watching her hands for a time, but they'd darted away as she glanced back at him.

"I wouldn't say that," he replied lowly.

"You wouldn't? Then… what would you say…?"

She had to hear this. Obviously, he was thinking long and hard about it. But sometimes he'd done that before, when Cloud would ask for his advice. And then when they'd all held their breath, he'd finally say something so simple that the dramatic build-up left her inexplicably disappointed.

"I would say that… you were… misguided."

One fine dark eyebrow lifted. Well, that was different. And she didn't like the way that sounded. Misguided. Such an unusual word choice. Maybe she should ask him if he felt he was misguided for buying her flowers and piano music. She actually thought that the two of them were a little misguided at the moment, walking aimlessly as they were between snowdrifts. Maybe she should deck him with a snowball, and inform him that he was misguided for leaving without saying goodbye, because she was so tired of missing people who didn't seem to care about being missed.

Suddenly, she came to a halt there and turned to face him, adjusting her knapsack on her shoulder before settling her hands on her hips. He stopped too and gazed down at her, crimson eyes unreadable but somehow glowing in the early evening.

"Misguided?" she echoed, now that she had his complete attention. She'd forgotten how little the guy made eye contact, when people asked him questions. Or talked to him in general. Must have been some kind of a Turk habit. "You think I'm stupid? Or you think that I don't operate by my own free will?"

"I didn't say that, Miss—er—Tifa. I meant…" He huffed, annoyed that he suddenly forgot how to communicate properly. It was easier to talk to her before, when they were on the battlefield or otherwise watching each other's backs. When their words were limited and… distant. Harmless.

"What did you mean?" she asked accommodatingly.

"I'd think…"

_That your journey is wasted on someone like me._

"There are more welcoming locales than Icicle Village for you to visit. And…"

_I am so glad that you've come… If I could, I'd keep you with me…_

He schooled his eyes despite the dilemma in his heart, and carried on. "…I should see you home," he finished, releasing a long, pent-up breath with his words. He started walking again, distantly aware that they were passing a few houses in the general direction of the inn. Wood was burning, and people were no doubt cooking the last meal of the day. He should offer her real food, as she might do for him. As a kind man would do. She was no doubt hungry, after drinking only hot chocolate after her long journey…

He scowled. He was not a kind man.

For a moment, he listened for her footsteps behind him, but when he didn't hear the crunch of her boots, he stopped again and turned to look at her.

He could see that she didn't like that answer one bit, if her deep frown was any indication. She had every right to be annoyed, because that was one of the most presumptuous and insensitive things he'd said to her since she'd arrived.

"Maybe I'm not ready to go home," she replied challengingly. After a moment, she added, "Do you want me to go?"

"I don't want you to do anything you don't wish to do."

"Hmm… Well, in that case… I want to know what you would like to do."

He cleared his throat in an attempt to dispel a sudden dryness there. "I would like to…"

"Yes?"

"Do what… you wish to do."

"You're content to do what I want to do?"

He didn't answer at first. He was not content. By no means. But he would resign himself to that… in place of…

Uneasily, he nodded. Not the answer she wanted. How could he please her without wanting to do… more?

"I… you… forget it."

"Well, as I said, Miss Lockheart, you are not required to stay if you'd prefer."

"You didn't say that."

"The point is that I should hate to get in your way, Tifa." Rambling, again. Maybe all those nights sitting quietly with Mara Thompson were finally taking their toll on him.

"But I'm certain you have responsibilities at home that you left in order to…" _Find me…_

"I do have responsibilities. I couldn't just get up and go as easily as you have found to do."

He thought he might protest that in a number of ways, but she went on. It was for the best that she interrupted, because he would have told her how hard it was for him to leave her.

"I have a job at home, for one thing. I can't just get up and leave whenever I want." She blinked, as if surprised at her boldness, and then she must have found a gap in her explanation. "But I've made you another responsibility, Vincent Valentine," she quietly pointed out. "I came to thank you. Because sometimes people do things for others and… they're not always appreciated. As silly as that sounds. So… thank you for the gifts. And since you've insisted on making yourself scarce—"

She paused to take a breath, her eyes wide as though she thought she might have said the wrong thing. She had, in fact, staggered him with her bluntness. Nonetheless, he merely lifted his eyebrows in expectance of an answer, and folded his arms as he waited for the next volley of arrows she might launch his way.

Sweet gods, was he truly comparing Icicle Village to a battlefield? Which would make Tifa Lockheart the enemy, again. But that was not quite the case. He could see that he'd irritated her in his intentionally unintentional ways.

"You have something to add?" he urged gruffly.

"Well… Yes, actually. Vincent, do you—? I mean—Ah… never mind."

What madness was this? She couldn't begin an inquiry, only to retract it halfway through asking. He had to know now, or else it would drive him crazy, if he was actually still sane, that is. He took a step toward her, his eyes steady on his target, as though he could change her mind by his will alone if he gazed at her long enough. But he knew better. And besides, the longer he made a study of her heart-shaped face, the weaker his resolve became.

"Do I… what…?"

"No, it's… nothing. Really." She brought up a hand to sweep the hair from her eyes as the unforgiving wind blew it there.

Restlessly, his arms fell to his sides again, one hand delving into his pocket to feel for the photograph. He told himself not to bother the faded paper so much, even as he chided himself for keeping it. If she knew, she would run…

"You wish to ask me a question," he flatly informed her. "Ask it."

"Ah… no… Honestly, Vincent. It'll keep."

With a soft huff, a visible and audible exhalation of breath in the chilly air, he gave a single nod. Her unasked question would bring an endless list of possibilities in his head, and fewer plausible questions than ideas born of his wishful thinking, but he knew he couldn't change her mind.

"Very well."

He wanted to ask her what she wanted of him, now that she'd thanked him for so simple a... No, not simple. He should have smiled. For him, those gifts had meant more than a mere token of gratitude.

But now… the two of them were even. And there was nowhere to go but forward.

The two of them silently walked together once more, as they had done when they'd left the apartment building. With one larger pair of feet guided by the smaller one's movements, their tracks crossed and parted and crossed again in the snow. And it occurred to both that they were somehow bound together now, but neither one was brave enough to share that notion with the other.


End file.
